Cleaning Up the Mess
by MrsTater
Summary: Phil Coulson has built a career on cleaning up other people's messes. A chance encounter with an old friend forces him to deal with his own. Co-authored with Malintzin. Features characters from Agents of SHIELD as well as the MCU.
1. Washington, DC - 2014

_**A/N: This fic is co-authored by**_ **malintzin** _ **and**_ **mrstater** _ **. We've been shipping Phil Coulson and Audrey Nathan ever since The Cellist was first mentioned in**_ **The Avengers** _ **, and**_ **The Only Light In the Darkness** _ **only made us love the pairing even more**_ **.** _ **We're holding out hope that one day Audrey will make another appearance on**_ **Agents of SHIELD** _ **, and that this time, she'll find out Phil's alive. This is our take on how that might happen, post-season 2/**_ **Age of Ultron (so be warned, here there be spoilers!),** _ **though of course we know the upcoming season three will likely make this AU. ;) We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we've enjoyed writing it. We've chosen to adopt a non-linear timeline, but it shouldn't be confusing if you notice the date stamps at the start of each chapter. And of course, brace yourselves for lots of interactions with characters from both AoS and the MCU!**_

* * *

 **Washington, DC - 2014**

The man in the suit leftover from the 90s swallowed visibly as he squared his shoulders beneath the padded jacket sleeves, attempting to weather the storm of Tony Stark's wrath. Or, to put it more accurately, Charles Thompson, a poor administrative drone of the government cemetery, regretted setting foot outside his house this morning as the billionaire pummeled him with verbal abuse. In Tony's diatribe, insults like _incompetent moron_ or _retarded automaton_ were actually the kindest ones, and Pepper didn't have it in her to stop him from reducing Thompson to a metaphorical punching bag.

To be totally honest, she wasn't sure she'd pull any punches herself. Ever since they received Audrey's call, no amount of self-control had helped Pepper to get rid of the constant pressure in her stomach. She felt literally ill, and disgusted, and angry. Learning that SHIELD had been corrupt all along had been too much to take. She and Tony stayed up two days straight, glued to the news as the images of the battle of the Triskelion played over and over again on CNN and Fox News and MSNBC, journalists and political pundits commenting on and on and on. Tony might have tried to get ahold of Fury and Maria Hill a hundred times before the former Assistant Director made contact, in dire need of legal protection.

All of this was such an impossible mess.

But _this_ , this was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. Pepper bit her lips in frustration, her nails leaving deep traces in her palms as she fought for control. _Somebody_ had dug up Phil Coulson's grave. And _somebody else_ actually thought that their deceased friend had ties to Hydra. Had she and Tony not flown to DC immediately, the police might have started to interrogate Audrey, the former girlfriend of a deceased SHIELD/Hydra operative making a prime suspect.

So yes, the man who started all of this by calling the police in the first place, and not the immediate known family-which Audrey was per Coulson's will-deserved every bit of the verbal abuse thrown at him. And whoever dug up the grave was in even bigger trouble…

Pepper took several deep breaths to keep the burning sensation in her veins at bay. Tony probably wished she'd let loose, get a little more _Extremis_ , but on this occasion, she was more than willing to simmer and let him hand this...zealot…his ass.

"I know how puny little pricks like you operate," Tony was saying.

Pepper snorted in spite of her anger. Puny, really? Obviously her boyfriend had spent a lot of time with Bruce Banner.

Tony went on, "You're desperate to prove your dicks can actually be seen without the aid of a microscope, so you lead these witch hunts. But you don't have the balls to actually take on people who are alive to defend themselves, so you go all grave rob-"

His words choked off, and she followed his gesture to the grave site behind Thompson, where Audrey had approached the caution tape to peer down at the six foot deep hole in the ground. Pepper had a flash of memory of her friend in almost that exact spot two years earlier, barely able to stand without her father's supporting arm around her because of her grief. _He can't be gone_ , she'd said, over and over, through her tears.

She wasn't crying now, though, which seemed out of character, given that her late boyfriend's body had not only been exhumed, but his character was being called into question.

There was no mistaking the emotion Tony fought back as he advanced into Thompson's personal space.

"Let me tell you something, you paper-pushing peon. Agent Coulson sacrificed himself so the Avengers would have a chance to defend the world. He was braver than any of us, and he didn't even have superpowers. But you? You're nothing but a fucking coward."

 _Agent Coulson_.

Pepper didn't know what made her crack, the name or the tremble in Tony's voice. Their wounds from the Battle of New York and the Extremis fiasco had barely begun to heal when SHIELD collapsed. This was too much.

She put a firm hand on Tony's shoulder and spoke very slowly, stressing each syllable that came out of her mouth.

"It doesn't matter. _This_ happened under your watch, Mr. Thompson, so you're responsible. Maybe you're an accomplice too, for all I know. In these times of suspicion, we all have to be careful. Our lawyers and Miss Nathan's will contact you and your administration soon. Pray we find the body soon…"

She had to force the words past her lips. The lips that _he_ had kissed more than once before they decided that friendship suited them so much better.

She couldn't do this anymore.

As she turned to walk away, Tony said, "Well, I have nothing to add to that."

Pepper could feel him start to follow her, only to pivot back one last time.

"Actually I do. Prayer probably won't be very effective, you can bet your nonexistent _ass_ we'll find the body, and you should be terrified of the lawyers because they're...well they're mine."

He waited till Thompson was sufficiently spluttering, then caught up to Pepper, taking her hand.

"Hey. You okay?" He looked as if he anticipated some kind of backlash from her. And Tony always tiptoed around the topic of Coulson. "I probably made things worse back there, but...well, what do you expect?"

"No, Tony, _they_ made it worse," Pepper gritted out through her teeth as she gestured to the police that remained cautiously in the distance as Audrey observed the now empty grave. "And I'm not okay."

But she took his arm and found comfort in his warmth. She was the lucky one here. She only grieved a friend.

"But not as bad as...you know…"

Tony drew her close and pressed a lingering kiss to her temple before he shifted his gaze to the solitary woman by the grave.

"We should go to her," he said. "The whole lack of crying thing is as weird to me as the whole missing body thing. Isn't it to you?"

Pepper silently considered Audrey's profile. She was pale, paler than she had been even during the funeral. But there were no tears, just a hollow, puzzled stare. Had the most recent events finally broken her?

"I don't know… She did sound calm when she called this morning. _Too_ calm."

Cautiously, she and Tony joined Audrey by the yellow tape. Pepper didn't know what was the more disturbing sight, the now empty coffin or the police agitation around it or the fact that Audrey seemed to be the least affected of the three by the whole circus.

"Are the police going to poke around for long?" she asked, not looking at them.

"I don't think so," Tony replied. Pepper turned around to see that Thompson was making his way toward the group of officers like a dog with his tail tucked between his legs. "They've got their report…Literally nothing here to see, folks, move along... I think Pepper made it clear to Thompson that this investigation is about the people who did _this_. Not about Phil. Or you. Speaking of, is there anything we can do for you, Audrey? You name it, it's done."

 _Besides bring him back?_

Pepper cringed. Audrey might not have said it out loud, but her expression was painfully clear, more than two years after Phil's demise.

"No, thank you," she whispered, forcing a smile.

For a minute or two, the trio remained silent, considering the mess in front of them. Another wave of nauseating grief and anger gripped Pepper's stomach.. She just couldn't understand what was going on.

And if Audrey's puzzled expression was any indication, neither could she.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Audrey said out of the blue, her tone self-conscious, as if she couldn't believe the conclusion she reached.

Tony caught Pepper's eye, his brows twitching upward.. Clearly, he thought recent events had done a number on Audrey, undone whatever progress she'd made in the grieving progress with the therapist he'd set her up with. She'd been stuck for a while in the denial phase.

"Audrey..." Pepper moved from Tony's side, reaching out for the other woman. "Is there something about the Daniels incident you didn't tell us?"

Audrey hesitated, as though searching for just the right words..

"I don't know, I'm probably losing my mind… There were four agents present in Portland, but I only met three of them. One remained invisible the whole time… And I think they might have known Phil, but one was so young, she couldn't have been on active duty two years ago." Audrey shook her head. "I'm not making any sense."

"None of this makes much sense," Tony said, "so that's par for the course, really."

Pepper shot him a look, even though she knew he was trying to be encouraging, in his way.

Turning back to Audrey, she asked, "Are you saying this mysterious fourth agent might have been...Phil?"

"Like hallucination Phil?" Tony asked. "Or Phil Phil?"

"I _felt_ his presence, I don't know…" Audrey visibly struggled against the tears. "Maybe this whole Daniels thing brought memories back."

"I'm sure it did," Pepper said, and a few tears slid down Audrey's face. "How could it not? How could any of this not?"

To have Phil's honor and heroism called into question...worse, called a _lie_ … She wiped moisture from beneath her own eyes.

"And now, _this_ …" Disbelief crept into Audrey's tone. Pepper understood the feeling well. Phil was dead for God's sake; why such a mindless act of profanation?

"I wish I could call the agents who helped me," Audrey went on, "but they didn't leave a number. Understandable, in the context..."

Pepper agreed. Even if they went on with the good fight, those rogue SHIELD agents were being chased by all the police in the world.

"I suppose I'm very lucky they knew how to find Daniels so quickly after he escaped…" she whispered, almost to herself. "I mean, how could they _know_? If Agent Barton had come up, I'd understand. Or Agent May. She went back to the field on some secret mission, but then went dark. Andrew's very worried… Do you think one of your contacts might know where she is?"

"I'll ask Maria Hill if she's been in contact."

She would ask about the agents who'd gone to Audrey's aid, too. How _had_ they known? Why would they be watching out for the girlfriend of an agent who died years ago?

"Just be forewarned," Tony said, "the lawyers have advised her to _not_ to be in contact."

Forewarned was forearmed, Pepper knew, but she frowned slightly at him. "You're still talking to Andrew, then?" she said, touching Audrey's shoulder. "That's good. Did you tell him about these...feelings?"

"Not yet. I meant to see him before heading back to Portland." Audrey fished a pack of tissues out of her handbag. "I suppose I need it badly."

"Hey, look who you're talking to," Tony said. "No judgment here. So stop apologizing for yourself, okay? And don't totally distrust your feelings."

Pepper raised her eyebrows at him, and he added, "I concur with Pepper, talking is good. I talked to someone once. He fell asleep, but...he wasn't that kind of doctor."

Audrey let out a chuckle at Tony's ramblings. From time to time, his nonsense did do some good for people, as strange as it seemed.

"He liked you, you know."

"I assume you're referring to Pepper," Tony replied, and Pepper's thoughts went back to that last time they were all together, in the Tower. _Why is he Phil?_ Pepper's eyes misted even as she smiled.

But Audrey was insistent. "No, I mean _you_."

Tony smiled, sadly. "I think you're confusing liking _me_ with liking to tell me he told me so, or that SHIELD was watching me. Or whatever."

"That too," Audrey conceded with a teary smile. "But I suppose you never saw him around someone he _really_ didn't like…"

"Guess not," Tony said, looking contemplative. Pepper squeezed his hand, and he looked up at her. "Did you?"

Pepper considered the question pensively. This was a territory she was loathe to explore again, Tony didn't need that.

"Well, the way he talked about Obadiah when he stayed behind to investigate the _Iron Monger_ mess… It wasn't nice." What she couldn't say was that Phil looked like he would have put a bullet in Obadiah's head happily and then gone on with his day without giving it another thought. "And he must have hated this General Ross to ask _you_ to go after him…"

If Tony's eyes had darkened at the reference to Obadiah, the lines of his face looking a little more deeply etched, the look passed quickly enough at the second memory she evoked. "That was fun, jerking Ross' chain. So Phil approved?"

"More than…" Audrey chuckled in earnest. "He looked like Hannibal in the A-team when he told me. He even indulged in a cigar."

"Sends me to do his dirty work, and then doesn't even invite me to celebrate afterward?"

"He learned from the best, or the worst…" Audrey teased as they reached the car. "Consider yourself lucky. Phil always did Fury's dirty work, and he had to pay for his beer as well."

Before she climbed into the car, Pepper took one last look at the cordoned off grave, tried not to see the police tape or the upturned earth. It felt strange enough simply to be visiting Phil's graveside in a state of shock and distress for the second time in as many years. At least this time, Audrey was able to pull herself together, to reminisce about happier times; when Tony suggested they go out for a beer, she agreed.

Maybe, Pepper thought, they would finally be able to move on.


	2. Portland - September, 2008

**Portland - September 2008**

The doorbell made Audrey jump, and the mug of tea slipped from her hand, crashing to the kitchen floor.

"Damn! Damn! Damn!"

Standing motionless, she contemplated the mess at her feet, breathing ragged, heartbeats erratic, nerves on edge. For the past forty-eight hours, she hadn't set foot outside her house; she'd kept curtains drawn, on constant alert. Whenever she took a glimpse outside, the man was still there, but whenever she called the police, he seemed to vanish. The last time she called, in the early hours of the morning, just before sunrise, the officer had a distinctively mocking tone, as if he were questioning her sanity. Somehow, she had the suspicion that the next call would grant her a trip to the psycho ward.

Maybe it would be better that way. Whatever they would give her would make her sleep, and she'd be guarded, in a way or another. After all, high profile musicians who cracked weren't uncommon, and some members of the orchestra seemed to have loyalty cards with their therapists, the _maestro_ first and foremost.

She could rest there, safe and sound.

The doorbell rang again. Had he gotten bored with just sitting there, across the street?

"Miss Nathan?"

A man's voice came muffled through the door, but it definitely wasn't _the_ man's voice. Hesitantly, Audrey left the mug and the mess in the kitchen and crept through the dining and living rooms to the front door. There, she stopped, fascinated by the woodwork. Why hadn't she thought of installing a peephole?

Because this was Portland, not New Orleans, the most dangerous city in the country where she grew up unafraid of anything…

Her stomach churned as she turned the doorknob.

The man she saw through the half-opened door wasn't her stalker. He was shorter and wore a dark suit, and he stood with his hands clasped together in a non-threatening a pose. He looked official and had a bland expression on his face.

"Miss Nathan? Please, don't be alarmed," he added when she startled at the movement of his hand; slowly, he reached into his suit coat and drew out his badge. "I'm Agent Phil Coulson, of SHIELD. And I'm here to help."

"SHIELD?" she parroted, feeling a bit stupid. She'd never heard of it. But Agent Coulson looked at her with an earnest expression that made her breathe just a little easier.

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

He displayed the badge a moment longer to let her get a better look, but she couldn't keep her eyes from his face. She watched him as he tucked his credentials back into his jacket and went on:

"Kind of a mouthful, I know. We're a government agency, kind of like the CIA or the FBI, only even more secret, and we specialize in way weirder cases. Of which I understand you have one?"

 _Way weirder cases…_

That was a nice euphemism. Audrey stared at him doubtfully, trying to get a read on him. Had the police done their job in the end and contacted this Agent Coulson? The credential looked legit, but she'd lived long enough in Louisiana to know that anything could be faked. And her street smarts were reduced to her uncanny ability to dodge speeding and parking tickets or find weed at a reasonable price.

On the other hand, the man in front of her looked so honest, and his self-deprecating smile was almost contagious, in the most surreal way.

She let out a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry, but I feel like I woke up in the middle of a X-files episode."

"That's a pretty accurate assessment of how I feel most days," he answered, smile widening. "The good news is, I'm here to stop your life feeling like that." He gestured to the door. "May I?"

Audrey knew that allowing a guy who arrived from nowhere, claiming to work for an unknown agency, into her house was unwise. On the other hand, he was the first person to acknowledge her plea.

Besides, her situation couldn't get any worse, could it?

"Come in."

Agent Coulson wiped his feet on the mat even though, as far as Audrey could tell, his shoes were perfectly clean, before stepping through the door into the entryway.

"Are these the original hardwood floors? They're in beautiful condition," he said as she flicked on the overhead light, in addition to the lamp that had glowed from the hall table. "I'm a big fan of Craftsman architecture. I couldn't help admiring your neighborhood on the drive in. When was this built? Around 1910?"

Audrey turned around, unable to hide her surprise. What on earth did the authenticity of the hardwood have anything to do with her case? Nevertheless, she couldn't help herself and replied as if he were a regular guest and there was no stalker outside.

"Most of it is original upstairs, but the house suffered from humidity and the floor here is newish. That's how I could afford it," she explained as they settled at the dining table.

"You've restored the period details beautifully." He admired the woodwork around the moldings and built-ins as he seated himself across from her.

Audrey looked at him, eyes widened in disbelief. Her life was getting stranger by the minute. A stalker who could black out an entire block, an agent from some unheard of secret service acting as if nothing was wrong… She should be afraid. She should call the police.

But there was something about him and his calm demeanor...

"Sorry," he said. "You didn't call the police because you needed someone to discuss early twentieth century architecture. Could you tell me a little bit about the person who's been stalking you?"

-/-

The hotel room desk doubled as a vanity which, unfortunately, meant that every time Coulson glanced up from his laptop that he was attempting to network with the teams' outside, he got a glimpse of himself in the mirror. It wasn't a pretty sight-contrary to his insistence to Barton as he patched him up that the gash above his left eyebrow and the bruise all around it weren't painful. The agent's smirk as he exited the room told Coulson that his protests weren't really convincing. However, Barton didn't open his mouth, luckily. If May had been there, as she should have been, Coulson knew she wouldn't have let him off the hook that easily.

 _She_ should be there, working with him, or taking some time off with Andrew, not walling herself up in some administration office. It was in cases like this one that Coulson felt the loss of his oldest partner the most.

Such was the story of their career together: him rushing headlong into a fight-literally-and her telling him afterward what an idiot he was as she treated his wounds. Heroic, but idiotic all the same. (The roles were hardly ever reversed, as May knew how to keep her cool and calculate her moves, the consummate specialist.)

She'd be right, of course-about the idiotic part, anyway-but he seldom regretted his actions because so often they were necessary. This time, for example, six stitches were a small price to pay for the discovery that while Marcus Daniels, Audrey Nathan's superpowered stalker, could absorb tremendous amounts of energy to power his attacks, he could also get overloaded. Which had been the case when a car pulled up at the park near Audrey's house where the team had staked out the stalker, high beams glaring and giving a new meaning to the phrase _like a deer caught in the headlights_. Coulson acted on impulse and managed to get closer to Daniels than any of them had yet. His only error in judgment had been to what degree his opponent had been weakened. That, too, was useful information.

But it didn't stop May from calling him an idiot, or Barton from mocking him when his team, led by Agent Sitwell, turned up as reinforcements.

Audrey's reaction, when they relocated her to the safer confines of this hotel, had been more compassionate. In fact, he caught her worried glance at him in the mirror before she quickly averted her eyes back to the TV. She'd been flipping through the channels for the last hour. Average Joes exposed their dirty laundry to the whole country in some stupid talk show. Celebs promoted their latest album or movie. Specialists in politics were at each other's throats, probably dissecting the Presidential candidates' campaigns _ad nauseam_.

Coulson snorted. Nothing new there. The TV as Audrey flipped channels had just been white noise as he worked, but suddenly his ears attuned to a sports commentator's voice: _...and the Saints fumble!_

Audrey groaned, and he turned to look at the bed. "You're a Saints fan?"

She looked up from the TV guiltily.

"Sorry about that," she started apologize but Coulson interrupted her with a pacifying gesture.

"Don't worry, I need a break." He pushed back from the desk and stood. He grinned, more pleased than he should have been by the idea they had something in common. "Because I'm a fan, too."

Her smile was warm, the kind of warmth that came when you met someone from home, thousands of miles from said home. "Of course I am. New Orleans born and raised."

"No way. My mom and I lived there for a while. Originally from Wisconsin, but we moved when I was nine, so I consider New Orleans my hometown. Who wouldn't want to claim the food and the music, though? Now _there_ is historical architecture for you."

"After that I couldn't live in a modern neighborhood, so when I saw my house…" Coulson was pleased to see her growing enthusiasm, after her inhibition when they first met. "Portland is chilly, but the food isn't bad so it feels almost like home. And they do have a jazz festival in the summer."

"You don't say? I'll have to make it up for that sometime. The one thing you can't say about New Orleans in summer is that it has a pleasant climate."

He realized, belatedly, that it might be a little weird to talk about making a return visit to a woman who was currently being stalked, although he'd meant it innocently enough. But Audrey's smile didn't falter, so hopefully that meant she wasn't entertaining the same thought. In fact, that smile might have been partly responsible for his enthusiasm about the conversation. Although she'd been pleasant in all their interactions since his first visit to her home-as pleasant as a terrified woman could be, anyway-he hadn't really seen a genuine smile. The drawn lines disappeared, and her brown eyes lit warmly.

And this train of thought was rapidly going down an unprofessional track.

Nonetheless, he flipped the laptop close and joined her on the bed when she moved over to make room. Conversation lapsed briefly as they watched an offensive sequence from the Saints.

"So you're not strictly into classical music, then?" he asked at the commercial break.

"The philharmonic is my main _gig_ , as they say, but I like to explore other paths as a soloist." Audrey stopped abruptly, visibly self-conscious."I hope I don't sound too vain… I hate to brag. It's not my style."

Coulson couldn't stop a smile, although the pull at the corners of his eyes made his bruise throb. "Occasionally my job requires me to deal with Tony Stark. So...what you just said wouldn't fall into my definition of vanity."

"Tony Stark? The billionaire in the flying suit?"

"Among other things. But we'll leave it at that for the sake of tact. Anyway," he went on, not particularly wanting to discuss Stark right now, "I imagine the music world has its share of similarly sized egos?"

"Our conductor, for starters. One of my teachers was a piece of work as well." Her understanding, almost conspiratorial smile faded into a look of contemplation. "It's strange, isn't it? You think you can deal with anything life can throw at you, especially when you start the conservatory at four, then you find out that _superpowered stalker_ isn't just a thing of fiction, and you totally freak out."

"That must have been one hell of a scary teacher," he joked lamely, but quickly became serious when he saw the withdrawn look begin to etch itself on the cellist's face again. "Audrey." He laid a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up at him. "I've seen a lot of freaked out people in my time, and you? You're scared. Understandably and justifiably. But you're brave, too."

"Well, me appearing scared is me being freaked out," she said with a shaky breath. Coulson's own breath was caught as she unconsciously leaned into his touch.

Audrey's hair, rich brown in the light from the sconce above the bed, curled loosely over her shoulders. A silky strand of it brushed his hand where it rested, and he had to resist the to stroke it, although he had a sense the gesture wouldn't be unwelcome despite its being unprofessional. His words would have to comfort her for now-but he didn't remove his hand from her shoulder.

"We're going to catch this guy, Audrey," he said, in a voice scarcely above a whisper. "You won't have to be afraid anymore."

She didn't believe his assurances-the tears that shimmered in her eyes in the light were evidence of that-but she wanted to. He felt it in the way she clung to his hand with her slender fingers. The tips of them were roughened slightly with calluses from years pressed to the strings of her cello. He would just have to prove that his words were more that.

He turned his hand to grasp hers, giving in to the impulse to brush his lips across the knuckles, barely a kiss, before lowering their joined hands.

"Oh look," he said, looking at the TV. "The Saints scored."

Audrey looked up just in time to see the end of the celebration of the touchdown, then she saw the score. She settled more comfortably on the bed, never letting his hand go, silently inviting him to stay.

"Only two touchdowns behind. The situation isn't totally hopeless."


	3. Johannesburg - 2015

**Johannesburg - 2015**

Pepper's temples throbbed as she leaned back against the headrest of the taxi that carried her through the streets of Johannesburg, but the voice that crackled from the cell phone pressed to her ear made her smile.

"So, are you calling to announce that I'm now the proud owner of a piece of prime South African real-estate buried beneath the rubble of a collapsed skyscraper?"

"Not as much rubble as there was," Pepper replied, feeling a little shaky at the memory of the site. She'd watched the news, of course, but that hadn't prepared her for seeing the devastation with her own eyes. For imagining _Tony_ in that suit, going head-to-head with the Hulk-against his _friend_. She still found it difficult to reconcile the mild-mannered scientist with his alter-ego. Poor Bruce...this was his worst nightmare, carried out in broad daylight, with the whole world watching. But in the moment she'd visited the battle site, her boyfriend was her first thought.

"But yes," she said, forcing the images and the sick feeling back. "It's all yours. The headache, on the other hand, is all mine."

"I might have something for that."

"Aspirin?"

"I've been looking into some property myself."

Pepper sat up in the cab, shoulders tensing. "You haven't been fighting again, have you? I thought it was all finished in Sokovia."

"Is cattle wrangling a kind of fighting? Here, check this out."

She switched the phone to speaker as Tony messaged her a link.

"A ranch in Wyoming?"

"What do you think about country life?"

"I don't, usually. Unless it's _Downton Abbey_."

Pepper expected Tony to snort at that, or to harass her about her taste in television, but there was actually a staticky sigh of consideration. "Now there's a thought. FRIDAY, show me National Trust estates for sale. They farm those, right?"

"Couldn't tell you. We never got around to season five."

Pepper's smile faded as she recognized, belatedly, that the cracks in Tony's voice weren't purely the result of the iffy phone connection between New York and Johannesburg. Her fingers curled a little tighter around the phone as she switched back from speaker and pressed it once more to her ear; in the rear-view mirror, the cab driver's curious gaze flickered to her, only to snap back to the road.

"Tony, are you okay?"

She hadn't seen him since the whole Ultron thing, having had to fly straight to Johannesburg to clean up after the Hulk and Hulkbuster. It went without saying that when the Avengers had been re-assembled, she'd worried whether his PTSD would, too.

"When have you ever known me to be merely _okay_ about anything?"

"That's not exactly reassuring."

"Is it reassuring to know I'm thinking about R&R?"

Relaxing slightly, Pepper replied, "Yeah, it is. Except that apparently your idea of R&R now involves cattle wrangling?"

"Doesn't have to. Splitting logs works, too."

"It could just be that my mind has been completely numbed by dealing with foreign relations and major real estate brokering, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Buying a farm! Literally, not in the metaphorical sense."

"Thank God," Pepper replied, dryly. Literally dryly, if that was how they were being. She was parched.

"I just…" Tony sighed on the other end of the line. "I got a taste of the quiet life, in the middle of all this insanity. I think it might've suited me."

The cab's brakes squeaked as it pulled along the curb in front of the Sandton Sun Hotel. She wasn't staying there, but one of the lawyers she'd dealt with recommended the rooftop bar.

"I'm glad you're thinking about a new kind of suit," Pepper said, cradling her phone between her ear and her neck as she dug through her purse for her wallet. "But can you wait to buy anything till I get home and can talk you out of it? Because I can't think of anything _less_ quiet than your inevitable boredom after a couple days in the country."

"I leave the real estate wheeling and dealing to you, dear," Tony replied, cheerfully. "Or, I can just marathon _Downton Abbey,_ whatever."

"Absolutely wait till I'm home to do that." The warning tone in Pepper's voice which seemed to alarm the driver as he opened the door for her.

"My running commentary isn't nearly as gratifying without you and Happy to annoy."

"For now..." She handed the driver his payment and a generous tip for having to listen to one side of her conversation. "...I'm going to have a drink and watch the sunset from a rooftop terrace and try _not_ to be annoyed about how I've spent my day."

"Oooh!" said Tony. "Rooftop terrace! Wait, we already have the Tower…You know, we can reclaim it, now the Avengers are getting a new facility..."

-/-

"And an _African Violet_ for the gentleman, no parasols."

Maria had to smile as she put the glass in front of her current partner in crime before taking her seat with her own brightly colored, even more extravagant, cocktail. Rolled up sleeves, loosened tie and celebratory drinks at the end of the day: this was the Phil Coulson she'd missed the past three years.

"Your drink look awfully boring," she teased and took a sip, savoring the milky texture and the taste of coconut.

"What, no toast?" he asked and raised his own three-colored glass. "Cheers? To the rebirth of SHIELD, as messy as things still are..."

Maria considered her friend, who was smiling in spite of the missing left hand and forearm hidden by the black sling. A unobservant passerby wouldn't give the apparent broken arm a second glance.

"And to its brand new director," she answered the toast, "who's doing a tremendous job cleaning up other people's messes."

Convincing the South African government to drop any charge against Bruce Banner for the devastation of the Hulkrage without even alluding to Wanda Maximoff's involvement had been an impressive feat, even to her. The muddy connection of said government with Ulysses Klaue's shady activities in their very backyard provided some much needed leverage.

"That was the easy part, though."

She sighed as she settled more comfortably in her seat, eyes on the tourists and locals who shared the rooftop terrace with them, enjoying the last rays of sunlight and the view of the city from a refuge high above the ongoing cleanup in the streets below.

It felt like the old days. Almost.

When she wasn't yet Fury's right hand. When Coulson wasn't director of SHIELD, and hadn't gone through the TAHITI project. When Hydra was nothing more than a line in history books and aliens a figment of overactive imaginations.

"Yup," Coulson confirmed with a pensive frown that made her raise a suspicious eyebrow.

A maniacal General Ross on the hunt for the Hulk was sufficient cause for a frown, a disgusted one even, but not such a sad, pensive expression.

"Phil?" She hesitating before adding softly, "Everything alright?"

This was a question she was sure he was very tired of hearing these days. They'd tiptoed around him since his resurrection, about his physical condition, his psychological condition, his emotional condition…Everybody: Fury, Melinda May, the doctors, Maria herself.

Part of her would always be afraid of seeing him collapse suddenly, or go crazy, or shoot himself.

At her question, he turned toward her, attempted a reassuring smile. The movement made his frown return, though, betraying the phantom pain in his missing limb.

"I'm okay. Just thinking about the mess that's waiting for me back home."

 _Home_. If she knew Coulson, he meant the Playground. SHIELD.

"Only the mess?" she probed.

He shifted in his seat, as if trying to get comfortable. "What? Do you want me to talk about how the last time I was in South Africa, I was on a vacation with Audrey? You know that perfectly well, you signed my leave request."

It was Maria's turn to wince, and not out of pain. _This_ , he would never forgive them for. _Never_.

"Well, now that things are more settled, you could-"

"Let's be real, Maria," he shot back, but more bark than bite. "It's been three years, and I'm a zombie. That's the last thing she needs in her life."

He stopped abruptly and Maria watched him as he controlled the slight trembling in his right hand and swallowed his regrets.

"To be honest, I'm more than tempted to tell Fury to go to hell and rebuild his damn organization himself."

"Yeah." She humored him. "As if…"

As if Coulson would abandon the man who recruited him just after high school.

"You know me too well." He sighed. "Just can't give up."

Yet he sounded so defeated.

Maria took another sip."And you can't help playing with fire." She poked his left shoulder, trying to lighten the mood.

"Hey, Fury recruited me because I stole his car," he quipped, following her lead. "I always touch things I shouldn't."

A real smile formed on his lips at last, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with good-natured and self-deprecating humor.

Typical Phillip J. Coulson.

Maria almost inhaled her drink at that. If resilience was a super-power, that was definitely his.

She let herself smile and sit back in her chair as they both lost themselves in contemplation of the sunset. It really felt like the old days. Fancy drinks and senseless banter mixed with serious discussion. Criticizing Fury. Trying to act as if they had a regular job that did not involve dealing with mad scientists, corrupt organizations, and aliens, but never really managing to do so.

If you forgot the tiny fact that Phil had spent more than a few days in a drawer at the morgue, that they could never be sure whether the orders they followed over the years had been given by SHIELD or Hydra, it could be just like before.

"When was the last time we did this?" she asked after a moment. "I remember a wonderful evening on my terrace in DC, after you foiled General Ross' plans with the help of Stark. Audrey was there, but it can't have been that long?"

The allusion to her friend's ex was intentional.

"She suspects you're alive, you know," Maria went on, unwilling to let the topic go. "They all do, and I'm tired of lying to everyone's face."

"You chose the wrong profession, then," Coulson replied softly, barely above a whisper. He didn't need to go further; they knew each other too well.

And Maria remembered perfectly she'd been the one to relay Fury's orders about Coulson going partially dark for the sake of the Avengers' project. She was going to apologize - a rare thing for her to do - when Coulson interrupted her.

"With a crazy Ward on the loose, I don't know if I'm as courageous as May to take that risk, to be honest."

"Want me to tell Natasha to keep an eye out while you make up your mind?" Maria offered, glad they had gone back to more a practical topic. Decision making and planning, that she could do; matters of the heart not somuch. "Knowing that Tony and Pepper, and even Bruce, appeared very publicly at Audrey's concerts, Ward would really be crazy to come anywhere near her…"

Her words trailed off as her gaze drifted over Phil's shoulder to where a strawberry blonde had just stepped through the doors onto the terrace with a drink, hair and dress ruffling in the breeze. Before Maria could look away, their eyes locked.

"Shit," she said.

"What?" Coulson started to turn, reaching instinctively for his sidearm, but Maria caught his sleeve.

"Don't. It's Pepper."

"Maria?" Pepp er said, as if not quite believing her eyes.

Maria knew she must be staring back at her friend with an uncharacteristic deer-in-the-headlights expression. It seemed so strange, being half a world away from home, and bumping into a colleague. But then, SHIELD weren't the only ones with cleanup to do in Johannesburg. Of course Pepper had to travel personally to Jo'burg to deal with Tony's mess… Even worse, she approached them with a warm grin, until stopped, frozen.

"Shit, shit, shit," Maria hissed between her teeth.

Pepper dropped her glass. "Oh my god."

Coulson took a deep breath and turned around.

"Hi, Pepper."

Maria stared at him in disbelief. It was lame, bordering on cruel, but how _did_ you greet someone who thought you were three years dead until they bumped into you a South African hotel cocktail bar?

"Excuse me, madam," said a waiter, coming up with a broom and dustpan. "If you could just step aside so I can sweep up this glass before someone gets hurt."

Unaware of the drama around him, he set about his task diligently.

"Someone _is_ hurt," Pepper said. She looked as if she was unable to move and stood rooted to the wooden patio, unable to move except to shake her head in disbelief. "A _lot_ of people are going to be hurt…Maria, could you please explain what the hell is going on?"

"Well…"

For once in her career, Maria was at a loss. Shooting at robots, chasing a demi-god through the tunnels of a very secret base, commanding a helicarrier...all things she knew how to do. Hell, even reigning in a very angry Coulson and dealing with Fury's mad plans on a daily basis, she could handle.

But explaining why an alleged dead man was very much alive? Not her speed.

"Why don't you sit down while Phil buys you another drink?" She gestured to her table, giving him the opportunity to compose himself, or to flee altogether, buying time for the big bad conversation.

Pepper said nothing, but turned back to him, looking him over from head to toe, as if she were trying to decide whether he really was the Phil Coulson she'd last seen three years ago. When her gaze settled on the sling, Maria thought she looked a little unsteady on her feet; she wasn't one of the unobservant passers-by who thought he'd merely broken his arm. Whether Pepper said or not, she looked like a woman who definitely needed another drink, something stronger than the Amarula Sunset which was congealing under the late South African sun amid the shards of broken glass. The waiter still stood by, waiting for her to move so he could clean up the last remnants of her drink.

"Double martini? Extra dry? Extra olives?" Phil asked, following Maria's lead.

"You're really Phil," Pepper whispered, visibly in shock. Maria could see the tears forming in her eyes. Were they red solely from emotion, or was it an effect of the Extremis?

As horribly awkward as the chance encounter was, and cruel for both parties, Maria felt very much relieved. No more lies and half-truths. No more sending Natasha on a wild goose chase to keep her off Coulson's trail. No more guilt when she spoke to Pepper and Stark...

"Yes, I think so," he confirmed with a sheepish grin and his best apologetic puppy eyes. Trust Coulson to be still his typical self in the worst situations. "A martini then?"

"Yes, please," said Pepper.

Then she wheeled back and slapped him, hard, across the cheek.

-/-

Back in his hotel room, Maria winced as she tended to the nasty bruise on his cheek. Obviously, it looked as bad as it felt. Pepper had packed some muscle with that Extremis stuff, it seemed. Coulson sighed heavily. He just could not catch a break lately.

"Just gimme an ice pack," he mumbled as she examined his cheekbone for any trace of fracture. The sound of the slap back at the bar _had_ been sickeningly loud, but he knew he'd suffered nothing worse than a bruise. A bad one, but just a bruise nonetheless.

"Here it is."

Being patched up by Maria felt like old times.

"Better?" she asked as he pressed the ice pack to his cheek and sighed audibly in relief. In spite of his battered state, or perhaps because of it, she smiled.

He returned it and took her hand briefly, pressing it in silent acknowledgement. He supposed that a missing arm and a nasty bruise on the cheek were a much better sight than his corpse in a body bag.

She and Fury had played Frankenstein, pushed the limits of ethics to a point that should not be reached ever again. It had taken him some time to accept the idea, but he was quite glad they did it, their souls be damned.

"Yeah," he answered, his eyes focused on the figure behind her, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Three years, Phil," Pepper said, quietly. " _Three years_ we believed you were dead. We attended your funeral, we visited your grave...we drank to Agent Coulson and tried to smile about the good times we had, only to cry because there wouldn't be any more. We mourned you, and we _missed_ you. Tony and I...You know he felt like it was his fault, somehow? In the trauma after New York...He thought he'd failed you. He's been looking after Audrey."

Obviously, she hadn't meant to say all that, but once she started talking, the years of knotted up grief seemed to unravel, like a ball of yarn.

Phil swallowed at the mention of Audrey. Of course he knew all about that-Maria and Fury had kept him updated to appease him, when they ordered him to remain in the shadows-but hearing it from Pepper hurt. He'd failed Audrey, failed all of them, and the guilt was overwhelming.

Heavy silence settled in the room, until Maria stood and gathered her things.

"I'll leave you to it, guys," she said softly before turning to Pepper. "Just… Nothing's Phil's fault, Pepper. Nothing. Fury and I..." She swallowed. "Fury and I…we just couldn't let him go."

Without another glance at either of them, she was out.

Coulson watched Pepper intently as her gaze lingered on the door for a moment after the automatic deadbolt clunked into the lock position, then she at last gave in to Maria's earlier suggestion to sit, sinking down onto the too-narrow, too firm hotel sofa.

Her emotions were still unquestionably fraught, the dominant one being anger. She stared at him across the gap between the sofa and the bed, arms folded across her chest, fingernails pressing into her skin beneath the cap sleeves of her dress.

"So Nick Fury," she said hoarsely. "He couldn't let you go?"

A sad smile formed on Coulson's lips. Even if the man had not expressed the sentiment with so many words, that was the idea indeed. _I went to great pains to make sure you didn't die the first time…_

"Yeah. He has a strange way of showing affection, I guess."

He stood up with a frown, the ice-pack forgotten on the bed, shuffled to the mini-bar, retrieved vodka and whiskey, and collapsed with a groan on the sofa next to Pepper.

Silently, he gestured at the bottles he placed on the table, letting her pick her poison.

Pepper chose the whiskey, unscrewed the tiny cap and gulped down half the bottle.

"How strange?" she asked.

There was a hint of ironic, seen-it-all, matter-of-fact Pepper Potts in this last question, which was a much more familiar and comforting territory. The woman was Tony Stark's girlfriend after all.

"My heart was lacerated, split in two," he began to recite bits of his file. "I was dead for days, went cold and all."

Pepper gasped at that. Finishing off her whiskey, she reached for another of the small bottles from the coffee table. "Really dead. Not...fake dead. How…? Or do I really want to know?"

"Do you really want to know how I'm still walking and talking and breathing and thinking normally after my muscles and nerves started to rot?"

He struggled to unscrew a bottle of vodka, sticking it between his knees and opening it with one hand, before gulping it down. In spite of everything, even if he'd grown comfortable with the details of his resurrection, and even the consequences, he just couldn't talk about it, not like that, not with somebody who didn't know the details already.

Pepper studied him for a moment then, ever perceptive, let him be. He thanked her with a silent smile; she had experience, after all, with men who wanted to be open, but couldn't.

"You'd think since my boyfriend had a glowing magnet in his chest I'd be okay with this Frankenstein stuff." He felt her fingers touch his sling gingerly. "Fury brought you back from the dead, but he hasn't regenerated an arm yet?"

Coulson let out a chuckle. What did that say about the state of things when loss of limb was a less gruesome topic of conversation than the alternative?

"That? Yeah, very recent actually…" he admitted. No need to hide the truth. Just a bit of it, maybe… "We've been busy, more than just the crisis in Sokovia. Alien stuff. Touched something I shouldn't have."

It had been a no brainer. A bet. Worst case scenario, he died like all the people who touched the damn thing but his guys survived. Best case scenario, they all made it out alive. When his hand started to petrify, he'd felt oddly calm… _Too_ calm even, until the pain engulfed him.

"One of my men is handy with a fire ax."

Somehow, Pepper managed not to cringe at that, and he was grateful. However, her growing paleness indicated this was subject quickly becoming as equally gruesome as the one she was trying to avoid.

"I'm sure Tony can come up with something slightly less mad sciency for you," she said. "But of course that would involve you actually _telling_ him you're alive. Why haven't you? Why the lie?"

 _Why the lie?_

How many times had he asked himself the same question?

Coulson chose his words carefully. "It's barely been three weeks, Pepper. Half that time I've been high on morphine, then SHIELD needed some serious patching up. I flew to South Africa two days ago because Maria heard General Ross was sniffing around…"

To be honest, he wasn't sure he'd fully processed what happened to him.

The ramifications.

The possibilities.

He cleared his throat. "As for the rest, it was all about protocol at first. I followed orders, as I always do." He reached for another bottle. "I didn't like it, especially with regards to, you know…"

He swallowed and unscrewed the bottle, with more ease this time. He didn't trust his control if he went _that_ route.

"But I did it, because Fury told me to. Decades of habits." With a snort, he took a drink. "Then there was Hydra, then I was Director, then…"

"...three years had passed and the people you love still thought you were dead?" Pepper's voice quavered.

"Technically, I've only been silent for two, since I spent the first one in a coma…"

 _And woke up in my bed, in my DC apartment, ready to go back to duty, after a nice sick leave in Tahiti…_

"I didn't respond very well to the treatment in the beginning, it seems," he offered, a lame explanation.

He finished the second bottle.

"I don't know how safe I am for the people I care about."

And that was the only reason for his silence, probably the reason behind Fury's order from the start.

"Some of the people you care about have superpowers, you know," Pepper said. "A couple of them are geniuses, and you work for…" She paused. "...you _direct_ the top protective agency in the world. So forgive me if I don't totally buy this bullshit that you're just keeping all of us _safe_. What's the point, if you're not part of our lives?"

Phil closed his eyes and let her words sink in. She made so much sense, like the civilian she was. _Audrey_ used to talk sense into his thick skull most often than not. Skye did as well, before everything went south in the last few weeks. If he was honest with himself, this fresh view on things was the main reason he'd recruited her in the first place.

"I missed all of you terribly," he admitted. "I thought I could start over, meet new people, not bother you with all that… _stuff_."

He stopped abruptly, unsure for a moment if he could go on, but he forced himself to

"For a while, I thought I could exist as a ghost, inhabit my own universe, and let you heal."

He gestured to his missing arm, a resigned expression on his face.

"It's not as if I don't risk my life everyday. So what's the point?"

It made sense in his head. Out loud, not so much.

"I was… content, watching over all of you, helping Tony and the guys from a distance, making sure _she_ was alright..."

"Who are you to decide Audrey's all right? Because she's not, you know." Pepper's voice was cold.

Raina's words echoed in his mind and he swallowed a sob. _You did not just give up your life. You gave up your chance at a normal one. At love. And she did love you, Agent Coulson. She cried for days after SHIELD told her you'd died._

"You've seen her recently?" he asked weakly, broken.

Pepper nodded. "Tony got season tickets to the Portland Philharmonic. We fly up when we can. Classical music helps him sometimes. I don't know how much it's helping Audrey. At least she's playing again," she added.

He could feel his jaw tense as he listened to Pepper's account.

"But it's different," she went on. "Her heart's not really in it. And frankly, I don't know how I'm going to be able to see her again, knowing that the man she still loves and is still mourning for is very much alive."

Last year, when he'd played the _Phantom of the Opera_ in the middle of the Hydra debacle, when he'd stood in the shadows and listened to her once again, he felt the difference. He was no specialist, of course, but he knew Audrey well enough…

How many times had he flown out to Portland from the Pegasus base where he supervised Dr. Selvig's research on the Tesseract just to spend a weekend away? How many times had he come back from the Triskelion to her rehearsing when she spent the summer hiatus at his apartment in DC? _God he missed her_. Their relationship had been such a peculiar one, with his commitment to his job, and her dedication to her art. But they'd made it work, made each day together count.

He swallowed another sob, and reached for a third bottle.

"I don't know what to do, Pepper. I just don't know."

She placed her hand over his, fingers curling around his fist.

"I think you do, Phil."

His fingers clung to hers. "If I do, I wish I had the guts to do it."


	4. Portland - September, 2008 (Again)

_**A/N: This update is a day late, but not a dollar short. That is, we think it'll be worth the wait. ;) We'll return to our usual Wednesday posting schedule next week! Thanks to everyone who's following this fic and left feedback! We're thrilled to see more Philharmonic shippers coming out of the woodwork!**_

* * *

 **Portland - September 2008**

"Oh my God," Agent Coulson said, looking around at the food carts, and Audrey couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. He was being very much the stereotypical tourist, but clearly was too delighted to care. "You've brought me to the adult version of a candy store. How do you even choose?"

Pasta, tacos, chicken and waffles...every kind of Asian food, Indian, crepes, even doughnuts...

Audrey could relate, as she'd probably looked the same way when her then new colleagues from the orchestra brought her to Cartlandia, the food cart pod, for the first time. She'd thought _pod_ seemed too small a word for the rows and rows of trailers and trucks. Phil would be having considerably more than their agreed upon drink. The aromas wafting from the mobile kitchens were mouth-watering.

"You could probably come here every day for a year and not repeat a cart," he said, still sounding awe-struck and still apparently not really caring. "That's it-I'm going to put in a request to my director to open a base here in Portland."

Audrey laughed at that and guided Agent Coulson through the maze of carts to her favorite cajun one. His ability to switch from his very professional persona-the intensity on his battered face when Daniels finally collapsed had been unsettling-to an almost boyish enthusiasm for the good things in life was amazing. And, as much as she'd been relieved that such a person as the former came to put an end to her nightmare, she liked the gentle expression on his face and the twinkle in his eyes so much better. He looked relieved, happy even. Such ordeals were tough on the agents, too.

 _Well, I might celebrate the happy conclusion of a case._

Those were his words when he finally accepted her invitation for a drink, clinging to rhetoric as much as she did. He celebrated another case closed; she celebrated her rebirth to the world.

"Actually, it's more like ten and a half months," she said. "Very convenient when you're a walking kitchen disaster."

They turned a last corner, and she inhaled deeply, savoring the spicy smell that came out the _Treme_ truck. It felt so good to be outside again, to breathe the fresh air. Maybe the gruesome reality of being stalked would hit her later, but for now, she felt like an ex-convict rediscovering the outside world and the pleasure of just walking around town. She took another deep breath, knowing she wouldn't take simple things for granted anymore.

"I'm not bad in the kitchen myself," Coulson replied, "but I'm not sure I'd bother if I lived near this…" She felt his gaze on her and looked up at him, her own smile widening in response to his. "I'm guessing as much time as you spend in practice rooms, practicing in the kitchen is the last thing you want to do."

"Honestly, I wish that were my excuse. I know a little more than the basics, but I just can't bother. I've burned so many dishes I stopped keeping count. I'm a capable assistant, though."

They reached their destination. Luckily for them, it was in the most remote area of Cartlandia, where only the regulars came. She indicated a vacant table to Agent Coulson before heading to the truck.

"What do you think? Their gumbo is to die for."

"I trust your judgment-as a fellow native. That, and it smells amazing."

The weather was perfect for it, the air crisp and chilly as the sun set, the steam curling visibly from the two bowls the vendor dished up for them. Coulson reached for his wallet, but Audrey beat him to the punch, fishing her own out of her purse.

"I wish you'd let me," he said.

As nice as the company was-more than nice even, the open collar, loosened tie and rolled up sleeves giving her companion a relaxed composure that was very easy on the eye-this insistence was getting annoying.

"And I told you it was my treat, Agent Coulson," she repeated for the fifth time in less than an hour, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Or are you afraid that I'm trying to bribe and corrupt a perfectly honest government agent?"

"Not at all. I just don't want you to feel like...You don't owe me for anything." He met her eyes, smiling. "I guess I'm also a little old-fashioned."

Audrey shook her head stubbornly. They were getting nowhere like that, and she just wanted to enjoy her first night out in forever.

"Yes I do owe you, but if it makes you feel better, please consider this helping me out one more time," she proposed in the form of a peace offering. "I need to unwind, and it wouldn't be proper to let me drink alone, would it? I'm appealing to your sense of chivalry, Agent Coulson."

And she plunged her spoon into the steaming bowl greedily. After weeks of barely eating, she was starving.

"Believe it or not," he said, dipping his own spoon into his gumbo, "I could do with a little unwinding myself." He took a bite, and gave a little moan. "This is incredible," he said when he swallowed, and scooped another spoonful. "Frankly I don't even know if the drink's totally necessary. This is soul food."

She considered the agent carefully. For a split second, his tone had been darker, a shadow covered his stare, and his shoulders fell a little, just like the night when Agent Barton grilled him about his reckless behavior on the field. But a single taste of the dish changed his mood entirely, brightening his eyes again.

"More than you know." Audrey tilted her head in the direction of the truck behind her. "Jacques and LaDonna had a restaurant back in New Orleans. They lost everything after Katrina. When the city hall started to tear houses apart, they packed, moved up and started fresh."

She remained silent for a bit. Compared to what the people back home had suffered for the last three years, she was damn lucky, in spite of her most recent ordeal. Never she had felt so alone, isolated, only meeting disbelief and mockery. Just when she started to think she was screwed, this man showed up at her door. If this wasn't luck…

"Like Steve Earle says, _this city won't wash away, this city will never drown_. They left the city, but they keep the spirit alive."

"Great song. And a great sentiment, too. People who are able to do that-admit when it's time to let go and move on, but still realizing it doesn't mean you've given up-can get through anything, I think."

For a moment he stared absently into his bowl. What-or who-was he thinking about? He took a bite and returned his attention to Audrey.

"Seems like you brought some of that New Orleans resilience to Portland, too."

"Don't know about that," she replied a bit too quickly, aware of her flushing cheeks. "Stubborn optimism is a Nathan family trait. My parents started to work on the house as soon as the water left, and they kept me in the dark about the extent of the damage until I finally came home for Thanksgiving."

"They're still there?"

"They'll be buried there, second line and all."

"Will you keep them in the dark about Daniels?"

She let out a sigh. "For now, at least on the phone…" It wouldn't be fair to them to hear such a frightening thing that way. But hiding the truth wouldn't be either. "I think I'll settle for partial truth." She gulped down the last of her beer. "The orchestra already knew I had some... _trouble_ , I asked some time off, you know, so I can't hide everything. But they can do without knowing about the… What did you call it? The _dark force_."

Even now, it sounded ridiculous. Like _Star Wars_.

"That part will be _our_ secret."

Without thinking, she reached her hand up to the bruise on his face, which looked even nastier now that it was beginning to turn a greenish shade.

"I understand not being able to tell them some of the weirder stuff," Coulson replied; was she mistaken, or was his voice a little unsteady? "It's important that you have someone you can talk to openly about all of this. Not that I think you're coping badly. I can recommend a great psychiatrist."

Audrey withdrew her hand to her side of the table.

"I suppose he or she specializes in the _much weirder stuff_? It would definitely be a practical solution. I doubt telling everything to the standard therapist would end in any place but the crazy ward."

She could joke about it now, but it was difficult to keep the bitterness out of her tone. No one had believed her, and the police had proved… useless. Nonetheless, she reached out again, for his hand this time. _This_ she needed to tell him.

"You've probably heard it hundreds of times, but you coming over and _believing_ me... It was really important."

Coulson gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I have, but it's one of those things I don't get tired of hearing. It's what makes the job worth doing. And I'm just glad we were able to get Daniels so you can get back to your normal life."

"You did a good job, Agent Coulson, rest assured." With a final press of her fingers she released his hand, immediately missing the warmth of his skin.

"Phil," he said. "I think if you're treating me to the best gumbo I've ever had, you can stop calling me Agent Coulson."

"Phil…" she repeated, trying it out, testing his reaction to the sound of it. _She_ liked it, and she liked the intensity of his gaze even more.

She liked him, period.

"Well, _Phil_ , after compliments like that, I might even let you buy me a drink. You're an old-fashioned kind of guy, aren't you?"

He grinned. "I will gladly buy the lady a drink." He took her empty bowl from her, discarded it along with his in a nearby waste bin, and offered his arm. "That is...if the lady will show me the way to the bar."

His smile was contagious, and his manners were deliciously old-fashioned and flawless. She took his arm, letting her fingers wander over the exposed forearm.

"I might know one or two. What's your poison? Beer, wine? Loud music? Trendy music? Strip club?"

He let out a snort of laughter. "Miss Nathan, didn't we just talk about what an old-fashioned guy I am?"

"Just keeping my options open, Agent."

"I'm always up for great beer and live music...as long as it's not _too_ loud."

"How convenient I know just the place."

Audrey laced their fingers together and led him out of the maze of Cartlandia.

-/-

They stayed at the Blue Room Bar past the last performance of the night, and past most of the other customers, too. Only when the bartender started wiping down the counter and a waitress, not unfriendly but clearly ready to go home, came by with a mop and said it was closing time, did Coulson have any inkling of how much time had passed. He glanced at his wristwatch.

"Midnight," he said. "Who knew bars were like balls? Do you think all the cabs turned into pumpkins?"

He pushed his chair back from the table and stood, holding out a hand to Audrey as she got up.

"Don't worry, I'm not pulling a Cinderella on you," she quipped as she took the offered hand.

Since she laced her fingers through his back at Cartlandia, they had maintained constant physical contact, deliberately and less deliberately. A brush of his fingers as they traded drinks to have a taste, her playful smack on his arm whenever he told a very bad joke, which he was more and more inclined to as the night progressed, his hand at the small of her back when they got up to enjoy the music.

"Considering you're the stranger in town," she went on, "you're the one who could be Cinderella tonight."

Although he grinned at this-he didn't think he'd _stopped_ grinning the entire night-Coulson didn't love the reminder that it was back to DC with him tomorrow, for debriefing and the next assignment.

"I promise I won't leave Portland without giving you more than a shoe to find me with," he said, releasing her hand to get the door for her.

Audrey walked out of the bar ahead of him and and scanned the still busy street for a cab.

"If a phone number is today's equivalent of a lost shoe, what else would that be?"

Coulson stopped in his tracks, impressed with her directness.

"I've been literally the runaway bride, you know, so I won't be fooled easily, _Phil_."

"Nikes under the gown and everything? Still closer to the altar than I've ever come. My line of work hasn't made that exactly easy." He spied a cab and raised his arm to hail it. It pulled along the curb, and as he got the door for Audrey and she climbed in, he said, "That's not to say I don't want to give you my number. If you want it."

"I think I just asked it," she replied seriously once they were settled in the cab.

And she gave her address, without _asking_.

"I was going to ask where to next," Coulson said, slipping his arm around her as the cab pulled back into the street. "Guess that answers that."

Audrey Nathan knew what she wanted and went for it. He supposed that was a necessary skill to get anywhere in the music world.

"To answer your previous question," she said, leaning into him, "I wasn't as bad as Rachel in _Friends_ … But I think the wedding dress shopping was a wake up call."

He felt her drift away for a second before she spoke again.

"It was for the best. We'd grown up, and too far apart. We had nothing in common but years of habit. I had my career in Portland, but he expected me to drop everything and play house in New Orleans. Become a music teacher if I wanted to..."

"But you didn't want to, obviously." Coulson stroked her arm, her hair which fell over her shoulders brushing his skin with the movement. He let his hand drift upward, catching a silky lock of it between his fingers. "It must've been painful to break it off, but not as painful as it would have been to have a partner who didn't support your ambitions. It wouldn't have been a partnership at all, in fact."

"I didn't endure teachers as mad as a pack of hatters and the constant drama of my fellow musicians to give everything up when I finally got what I'd dreamt of for nearly two decades."

She leaned further into his touch as he played with her hair.

With Audrey snuggled closer against him, leaning her head on his shoulder so that he could feel the softness of her hair against his cheek, smell the floral fragrance of her shampoo, it was becoming increasingly difficult to think of anything but how he wanted to take her in his arms fully, to run his fingers through her long hair as he kissed her. He tried to focus on what she was saying, thought he should try and say something about how much he admired her tenacity, or to make it into something romantic about how he felt like the luckiest man in the world that he was who she wanted to spend the night with tonight.

What came out was: "You have really lovely hair."

She snorted at that.

"Phil… You know how to flatter a woman." She straightened a little to look at him before settling back on his shoulder. "Try again."

" _Try again_?" He laughed. "Is this how you talk to all your dates? Something you picked up from your music teachers?"

"Something like that." She chuckled into his neck. "But it was a subtle way to tell you to stop thinking. I can hear the wheels in your brain from here."

"Oh. I see."

He let her hair slide through his fingers as he trailed the tips along the delicate line of her jaw. His thumb fit into the slight dimple in her chin, and he tilted her face up to his. Glancing sideways at the driver, he saw that the man's eyes were glued to the road, perhaps with _too_ much focus to be merely an attentive driver. He would have to tip extra for the attempt at giving the smitten passengers the semblance of privacy.

Just shy of her lips, he murmured, "Something along the lines of actions speaking louder than words?"

Something in her teasing smile told him he had missed his opportunity. Apparently, talking too much wasn't the ticket with Audrey Nathan. She gave him a quick peck on the lips before she straightened up.

"Too late. We're almost there, anyway."

"Oh good." Coulson returned her grin, then sat back back in a less demonstrative position, though he kept his arm draped over her shoulders. "I can hardly wait to see those hardwoods you told me about upstairs. Is your bathroom original, too?"

She bit her lip, as though to keep from bursting out laughing and he had a hard time not grinning at her reaction.

"Smooth…"

"Thanks. I try. And this time you didn't tell me to try again."

The cab stopped at last.

"I might have to tell you that in a near future, in the most encouraging way."

-/-

As soon as she locked the door behind them, and they kissed at last, all sense of old-fashioned manners and professional restraint flew out the proverbial window.

 _More…_

His hands were everywhere: on her face, on her waist, knuckles brushing her breasts as his fingers traveled up and down her sides.

Audrey made a stifled sound of disappointment when his lips left hers, soon to be replaced by a satisfied moan as he nibbled her earlobe instead.

Her own hands weren't idle either, traveling along his back, studying the muscle definition under the shirt. His lips had traveled down her neck and worried a sensitive spot at the base of her throat. In response, her fingers fitted into the grooves between his lower back vertebrae, rubbing in a way that made him grind against her hips.

He didn't _mean_ to press her back against the door as he leaned into her, but Audrey's touch was expert, finding all the right places to draw the most response from him. As if she knew him as well as she knew her cello, despite having known him mere days instead of decades. If her murmur of his name was any indication, she wasn't displeased.

Phil abandoned her neck to kiss her again, deeply, coaxing another moan from her. Things had escalated quickly. It was an apt euphemism. So much for not being horny teenagers. Common sense and basic need battled in his mind. He didn't want to break the embrace for a second, but the setting was… uncomfortable. On the other hand, he didn't want to push things further than Audrey was comfortable with.

He felt her trying to break the kiss, reluctantly, which elicited another needy whine from him. Whatever idea she had seemed to be forgotten as she let him claim her mouth once more. Her fingers started to work on the buttons of his shirt.

As Audrey unbuttoned his shirt, he took the liberty of letting his fingers slip beneath her blouse. When he stroked the curve of her waist, her stomach hitched inward, and he felt the prickle of goosebumps over her soft skin. He smiled against her lips. Ticklish spot?

His shirt undone, Audrey pushed it down over his shoulders, and he released her to pull it the rest of the way off, letting it fall to the floor. It had been a long time since he'd left a trail of clothes from the door to the bedroom…

She reached for the hem of his undershirt, tugging it upward, when he caught her hands. "Should we move this upstairs?"

"Eager to study the hardwood floor?" she teased as she gave a little push against his chest, starting the path to the stairs, but unwilling to stop kissing and touching him.

His own brain knew the same struggle as hers, since, just as he spoke about moving upstairs, his fingers played with the buttons of her blouse.

"I can think of something else I'd rather study," he murmured, exposing a bit of lacy bra. He traced the edge of it with his fingertip, then gave in to her more insistent nudge, took her hand, and pulled her with him up the steps.

"The woodwork of your banister is really nice, though," he said, sliding his other hand over it.

"Thank you," she murmured, pulling him for another quick kiss, lacing her fingers through his. "Sanded it myself. Great way to relieve stress after a nightmarish day at the symphony."

"That's what Agent Barton says," Coulson replied. "Me, I like to get out in the garage and work on Lola."

"Lola?" she parroted, barely containing her laughter.

 _Smooth..._

Suddenly, Coulson felt terribly self-conscious. He usually didn't slip up like that.

"Tell me it isn't as bad as I imagine," she asked with a teasing grin. Apparently, she didn't mind the slip up, or even enjoyed his awkwardness. "Is there a blue collar hidden under this white collar of yours?"

"More an appreciation for curves in cherry red," he couldn't resist teasing her back. "Lola's my dad's '62 Corvette." They reached the top of the stairs, and he turned back to her, cupping her cheek and tracing her lower lip, red and slightly swollen from their make-out session. "Looks like we share a bit of nostalgia."

He didn't intend to be that serious. But there was something about Audrey that made him more candid than he usually was.

More vulnerable.

"Nostalgia's good, I'd say. As long as it helps with savoring the present."

He felt her whisper against his skin as she took his hands and led them to the waistband of her jeans. He hooked his fingers over the fabric, slipping them just inside to trace the edges of her hipbones before he moved to unfasten the snap and zipper.

"I promise," he murmured as he revealed a tantalizing glimpse of panties that matched what he'd seen of her bra, "I'm only thinking of the present. Although very soon I'm not going to be thinking much at all."

"That's good, too," she murmured against his lips, her fingers working on his belt as she pushed him to her bedroom, only to pause just inside. "It means you won't be judging the mess."

He wanted to tease her about messes being total deal-breakers for him, but it occurred to him she'd had a lot on her mind recently besides cleaning house. Anyway, she was unzipping his pants and cupping him through his boxers and the only thing he could say was, "Oh God."

Audrey laughed softly, and her other hand settled over his hammering heart, giving him a gentle nudge. He stepped backward, and his legs connected with the mattress. He sank down onto it, drawing her down with him onto the unmade bed.

They rolled around like teenagers, hands discarding clothes with little grace until she fished a condom from the nightstand. In the dim light from the outside street lamp, he felt her eyes studying him with rapt attention. She slipped the small pack into his hand, her expression serious.

"You'll come back, right?"

As he took the packet from her, he took her hand, too, scuffing his thumb across her knuckles as he met her intent gaze in the dim light. They hadn't even gotten through their first time, and he already knew he wouldn't want it to be their only time. This was too good to be just a one night stand.

"I'm long overdue for a weekend off," he murmured. Hill and Fury would think he was playing some kind of a prank when he put in a request for the time. Or that Bahrain had gotten to him at last. "I can't think of anywhere I'd rather spend it than right here, with you...and your beautiful original hardwood floors."

The sound of her laughter was intoxicating.

Audrey waited for him to put the condom on before rolling them around, letting him settle on top.

"Less talk, more work, car guy."


	5. Washington, DC & The Playground - 2015

_**A/N: Back to our regular Wednesday posting schedule! If you follow AoS S3 spoilers at all, we're well into AU territory now, as you'll see in the third scene, but we always knew that would be the case. The good news is, that means nothing we've written contains spoilers for the coming season. ;)**_

* * *

 **Washington DC - 2015**

Coulson stretched lazily on his patio chair. It had been a very long time since he'd last enjoyed a quiet Saturday evening on May's porch.

A lifetime.

If he ignored the missing left arm, and a few other things, it felt almost like the old days. Andrew struggling with the barbecue. Cold beer with friends. Trying to talk about everything but SHIELD but always failing to do so.

"Almost forgot what you looked like without a suit."

He accepted the beer May handed him before realizing it wasn't open. He smiled apologetically. "Would you mind?"

May took the bottle, popping the top easily on the edge of the table and looking like she felt slightly guilty about it. He tried to look understanding as she handed it back, but it didn't seem to alleviate her mood. On the contrary, she picked up her own beer again silently and took a sip. They'd been avoiding the topic ever since they returned from the carrier.

"Dos Equis? Seriously?" He raised his eyebrows with an exaggerated expression of wonder. Annoyed May was better than thoughtful May, always.

"How was Jo'burg?" She pointedly ignored the lame joke.

Coulson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Now he was the one wishing he could deflect from the topic at hand.

"I thought we weren't talking about SHIELD tonight," said Andrew from the grill.

Even from the distance, Coulson caught the silent, playful exchange between the former exes, and suddenly felt like a third wheel. He hastily discarded the notion that things could be different.

"Phil, you like your burgers medium, right?"

"Yeah, thanks." Coulson was glad for the timely interruption; Johannesburg was the last thing he wanted to talk about right now. "I'd help, but I guess I get to be lazy tonight."

May lowered herself onto the patio chair beside his, pulling her sunglasses down from their perch on the top of her head as the low evening sun glared over the top of the privacy fence. "It was the being lazy part that made me worried about taking time off. I'm getting the hang of it, I think. Just in time to go back to work."

"She slept in till _six o'clock_ this morning," Andrew said, grinning as she tilted her head so he could see her _look_ over the top of her sunglasses.

"Six o'clock?" Coulson followed Andrew's lead. "Armageddon is upon us for sure."

In the three decades he'd known May, from their days at the Academy, she always had been an early riser for her sacred tai-chi sessions. Her sense of discipline had helped him a lot when he was nothing but a wannabe thug fresh out of high school, whereas she was a young woman assured of her place and role in the world.

They loved their pranks as well. They even loved each other for a while.

"But I won't throw the first stone," he went on. "Thanks to the damn jet-lag, I was awake at three am."

Good thing Andrew had a tremendous comics collection. Then he'd inevitably fallen asleep on _Top Ten_ , as fascinating as it was, and overslept till noon.

"I could do with some more time off myself…"

 _Real_ time off, not imaginary time off with an imaginary physical therapist. But then, what was the point of spending it alone? Sure, Pepper had invited to stop by Los Angeles at some point.

"Why don't you take some?" asked Andrew, seemingly casually, but not really. "Presumably if you weren't director, you'd have been ordered to take leave after your injury, wouldn't you?"

May crossed her ankles on the end of the lounge chair and sipped her beer. It looked like she was getting the hang of this lazy thing.

But, as much as May seemed to be enjoying the scene, Coulson felt more and more uncomfortable by the second. Always trust Andrew to follow the faintest blood trail. The man wasn't a psychiatrist but a damn hound, and Coulson had to question the wisdom of paying a visit to the Garners reunited.

"Can't enjoy my usual vacation hobbies in my current state," he evaded the unspoken question. It wasn't entirely a lie. Surfing or mountain biking without an arm wasn't even an option.

Maybe later.

"Once everything's settled, I can always rely on Agent Weaver and May to mind the store while I disappear for a while."

"Cheese?" Andrew asked Coulson over his shoulder as he flipped the burgers and put slices of cheddar on top of each. "Maybe time to try some new hobbies, then. Although if I recall, you have a few that don't require two hands. Reading Alan Moore comics...binge-watching a show...listening to music...catching up with old friends…"

He flashed a grin, as though he were talking strictly about himself and May, though of course he wasn't.

"Even after you get a prosthesis," he continued, "it'll be a while before you're up to the 'usual vacation hobbies,' won't it? Or are you planning to withhold all personal enjoyment until after that?"

May barely restrained a snort, and Coulson shot her an annoyed look.

Andrew was nothing but insistent. What a little bugger. Or big one.

"Well, I binge-watched _House of Cards_ during my trip to Jo'burg, had drinks with Maria after twisting the South African government's arm to drop the charges against the Avengers, I'm reading your comics and having a beer with you both, and I always listen to music when I sweat on paperwork."

 _Or when I used to carve things on walls._

His crew had quickly learned when not to step into his office. Jazz music meant _door open_ , while old, greasy punk meant _go away, I hate paperwork_.

Classical was reserved to the confines of his private quarters.

"I notice a lot of work mixed with those pleasures," Andrew said as he laid the hamburger buns on the top rack of the grill. "Work travel...work friends…"

"My _other_ friends think I'm dead, so my opportunities are reduced big time," Coulson replied a little more testily than he wanted, knowing perfectly well that he was offering his throat to Andrew's fangs. "And my childhood ones who wouldn't care are either in prison or dead, dead."

Or across the universe in Asgard…

Paying a visit to Pepper would be safer, but LA was much too close to Portland for his liking, especially with Stark thrown into the mix.

Andrew didn't speak as he took the buns off the grill, then put the meat on top of them. The smile he wore as he carried a platter over to the patio table told Coulson he was out of the woods for now. But the silent exchange with May was clear indication that the Garners weren't finished with him yet.

"Ready to eat?" Andrew asked.

"Those smell amazing," she said, swinging her feet to the ground and getting up.

-/-

Andrew had been called for some emergency at the hospital. One of his patients had a drink too many, apparently. SHIELD agents weren't the only ones with busy lives, and they weren't the only ones saving lives, doing good. It was a good reminder that the world kept on turning not only thanks to SHIELD, that they only were parts of a bigger ensemble, like Fury liked to say.

From the kitchen window, May observed silently as Coulson put the glass of scotch on the patio table and reached for the pack of cigarettes in his jeans back pocket before settling in a chair. She couldn't help a grimace. She thought he'd given up this hobby long ago. After all, he'd gone through the whole carving ordeal without relapsing. She saw him mentally counting the remaining cigarettes.

He only fell off the wagon during his downtime, and they were supposed to be back to the base tomorrow.

"You know if Andrew was still here, he'd ask if those help," May said, opening the sliding door just in time to see the swirl of Coulson's exhale. "Or what set off the habit again, after all this time."

"Will you let me get away with saying that I'm long overdue for a pack of cigs after all the alien writing and other stuff?"

"No." May shut the screen door behind her, and joined him at the table. She'd eschewed a glass of scotch for herself, but she had brought an ashtray, which she placed next to his glass. "I don't think Nick Fury went to such great lengths to bring you back from having your heart pierced in two so you could give yourself lung cancer. Or do you have a death wish?"

She let the words hang in the air, almost as tangible as the smoke that wafted from the end of his cigarette on the humid summer twilight air.

"Is that why you threw yourself in the path of that crystal?"

Coulson inhaled and exhaled, clearly pondering the question. "Don't know," he answered at length, his tone more honest than it had ever been lately. "I just acted. Like on the helicarrier. Sometimes, I don't think, I just act."

"I know." Second-guessing her decision to forgo the Scotch, May went on, "Your lack of self-preservation instincts wouldn't worry me so much if you hadn't asked me to put you down. Sometimes I wonder if that's why you continue to let everyone think you're dead. Because you think you will be."

She knew that the hit was hard and unforgiving. But the pain she felt when the medical crew evacuated his still form from the carrier was far too fresh. She still could remember his face, so very pale, and the void where a forearm should have been. When he'd woken up back at the Playground, weak from the trauma and the blood loss, May's relief had immediately replaced by… anger.

They hadn't really talked about all this before she left for her vacation with Andrew. In fact, they hadn't talked about much since he came back to the base after the Real SHIELD debacle.

"I don't know, Melinda. I have a hard time considering myself alive at times. Like I shouldn't be there…" He swallowed."I have a hard time seeing myself as something else than a man with a function, you know. Rebuilding SHIELD, rebuilding the helicarrier, putting everything back on track…"

She studied him for a moment, watching his struggle to keep emotion at bay. It didn't come any more naturally for him than it did for her to be open. "Cutting yourself off from the world outside doesn't help that. Take it from someone who knows."

He ground his cigarette out in the ashtray. "You're going to bug me as much as I bugged you in the past?"

"Depends on whether you're going to follow your own advice. You're no psychiatrist but...you have a pretty good sense of how people work. _Other_ people, anyway."

"And I'm blind about myself? Nothing new there, I was already a bag full of cats before TAHITI. I'm just good at hiding it."

"Except I don't think you are all that blind about yourself. In fact I'd say you're harder on yourself than anybody. Probably why it's so hard for us to watch you deny yourself a life."

 _Touché._

Coulson took out another cigarette and lit up again. Only four left in the pack. Good.

"Did I tell you I had proposed to Audrey before, well, you know, _before_?"

Stupid question. May was walled up in her office back then, and he was busy with the PEGASUS project back. They barely talked to each other.

Even before the Battle of New York, Coulson hadn't been open with his personal life. She could understand why; she'd been jaded about love-to say the least-at the time. She knew he'd been seeing the Cellist for quite a while, but he'd given no indication of their being that serious.

She knew, of course, what Simmons told her after he took a team to Portland last year, that Audrey was still very much in love with Coulson.

"Why are you telling me now?"

"Because I don't know what to do?" he offered weakly. "Looking at you and Andrew makes me want _things_."

May smiled slightly. God forbid anyone be inspired by _her_ love life.

"But there's Ward and Hydra…" he went on absently.

Fair enough.

The smile faded, and she looked down at the cigarette smoldering in the ashtray. She understood his fear. It was the risk they all took, the agents who dared to have families. Any partner had to know what they were getting into. And when you weren't in this line of work, it was almost impossible to know that.

"Don't you think I'm asking myself the same question?" she replied, voicing the worries she couldn't express to Andrew yet. "As long as Ward is out there, I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep quietly."

She sighed. Coulson said it himself: Audrey had been targeted. She was one of the rare ones who did understand the risks. She had known, from the beginning, like Andrew. Still, keeping tabs on Andrew's well-being without bothering him too much would be complicated, to say the least. Maybe her mother could help…

"But I'll be damned if I let this lunatic son of a bitch dictate my life."

"I can't give her anything she would legitimately want. Not anymore." Coulson inhaled deeply. "No marriage. No family. Nothing but worry and pain. It's not fair to her."

May sighed at his defeated tone. He might not be suicidal as she feared, but it didn't mean he had accepted his _resurrection_ as fully as he claimed.

"How can you know what she wants if you haven't asked her? You can't make her choices for her, Phil."

"That's the conclusion you've finally reached after all these years?" He considered the glowing end of his cigarette in the evening darkness.

"I wouldn't call it a conclusion. More like...finally getting off to the right start."

He studied her for a moment, then joked, "Thanks to my scotch."

He was deflecting, but May decided to let it go. "It was very good scotch," she replied, relishing the memory of their rendezvous in Coulson's office. "Although not as good as Andrew's. Speaking of which, if you're not going to drink that, I will."

"Hey, you wouldn't take advantage of a disabled man, would you?" he protested as she reached for his glass. "I can't smoke and drink."

He clenched the burning cigarette between his teeth and took the glass out of her reach, before realizing he was screwed now.

"As if you could stop me even if you had both hands," May teased. Then she shrugged. "Who am I to deny a man a little liquid courage? _If_ ," she added, raising an eyebrow, "that's what this is."

"And who felt she needed another _specialist_ to put me down if I lost it? I'm not _that_ rusty."

He put the glass back on the table, still out of her reach, sobering up abruptly. "I suppose I never said thank you for everything you've done for me these past two years…"

She traced the edge of the ashtray with a fingernail. It seemed impossible that it had only been two years that they'd been flying around together on the Bus. They'd crammed a _lot_ into them.

"No. You didn't. But then, I never said sorry for everything I did _to_ you, either. So that probably makes us even."

He put the cigarette out and took a sip of the scotch. Andrew really liked the finest things.

"Probably," he acquiesced. "When you told me I should think before flying to Portland… I really lost it."

"Now I know why. And maybe now I'd tell you the opposite."

"Maybe?" he said with a smile. "You're giving me an out?"

"Never. Just thought maybe I'd try playing nice. Doesn't suit me, though."

He didn't reply immediately, and she noticed him swallow, hard. Obviously, seeing Audrey again had affected him more than he'd let on. The carving compulsion had hurt him more deeply than she thought.

"She's going to be so furious," he said at last, gesturing at his missing hand. "And she's going to blame Fury. She hates him and his habit of letting himself into my apartment in DC, and always calling me for more work."

"Hey, better angry at Fury than at you. He may have to go even further off the grid." May had to smile. "Maybe I'll go to Portland with you. I'd kind of like to see someone call him out."

And meet Audrey properly. The only time they had was at his funeral.

Coulson snorted and grew serious once again. "You'll get along very well, I'm sure. About Fury, and many things. Me being an idiot who can't share his stuff, for one."

May _hmm_ ed in agreement. "I can't wait… But before that, looks like we'll be quite busy, won't we?"

As much as the break from SHIELD had been a welcome one, she needed to get up to date before flying out the next day.

"Want a little vacation debrief?" Coulson teased. "Not that good at being lazy, are we?"

She shot him an annoyed glance that did nothing to erase the mocking smirk from his lips. After an unusually personal conversation between them, they were back to more familiar territory, like before.

Andrew was the man in her life, and Coulson was her best partner. Her best friend.

"Skye phoned when you were still in South Africa… She sounded all right, though I can't believe you let her take Lola. People will talk, you know."

Coulson snorted.

"Yeah, I don't believe I let her myself. Though she can't do worse than I did when I took it for a spin for the first time."

"You were barely fifteen…"

"And an idiot, I know," he replied with his trademark self-deprecating expression. "Skye told me she wanted to stay in Afterlife for a while, get to know the people there. Make sure they understand that SHIELD won't harm them…"

"Not an easy task, after everything that went down," May said. Jiaying had manipulated everybody so easily. Inhumans and SHIELD alike had fallen into her trap so eagerly, prisoners of their own fears and prejudice.

And Skye had been at the center of the maelstrom.

"It won't be easy to appease our own people either," she went on. She knew for sure that she would always be wary of the Inhumans, as hard as she would try to keep an open mind. They had taken so much from her.

Scratch that, she was starting to get tired of all this alien insanity as a whole. Hydra. The Red Room. Crazy scientists and drug rings. Spy stuff. Enhanced people. Gifted people. This was her area of expertise.

"How's Simmons?"

-/-

 **The Playground**

Jemma sighed with relief when Coulson called her and Fitz into his office and she saw him sitting behind his desk. Ever since she'd been swallowed, and then spat back out, by the Kree stone, she'd found herself on edge whenever the Director was away from the base, fearing some as yet unexperienced side effects of the alien artefact would manifest in his absence. Not that Coulson would be able to prevent them, but there was something reassuring about having someone present who had experience with this sort of thing.

Visions that came out of nowhere. Ideas and concepts that didn't belong in her own mind.

As Coulson gestured for them to be seated, her gaze was drawn to the sling that bound his amputated arm. Of course she'd been equally worried about how he'd hold up away from the team, with this new difficulty still to adjust to. South Africa, in particular, alarmed her, but at least he'd had Maria Hill. Unexpectedly running into Pepper Potts, too, seemed fortuitous, as it drew back some of this veil of secrecy which, to Jemma , seemed unnecessary. After all, they lived in a universe full of stranger things than men being brought back to life.

Such as women being gobbled up and then regurgitated by mystical rocks. Jemma shuddered. She still hadn't found the courage to go anywhere near the room where the Kree rock was guarded behind biohazard tape. It probably wasn't a very scientific posture, but if they could drop the bloody thing into tons of fresh concrete, it would be for the best.

Or they could reactivate the Slingshot project, make it real this time.

"Welcome back, sir," she greeted. "How was Washington? Agent May seems to have found her holiday...rejuvenating."

She met Fitz's eye, briefly; neither of them had adjusted to this new, _happy_ version of their teammate. Not that they weren't happy for her. Only...she wasn't the Melinda May they'd got to know in their two years on Coulson's squad. Knowing there had been another agent running around with her face for a time didn't help.

Coulson didn't reply immediately, and as he studied them, Jemma became self-conscious. She crossed her legs. Uncrossed them. Crossed them again. Right over left. Left over right. She tried to distract herself by looking at Fitz. He was still pale, still in shock about her week's absence-which had felt like no time at all to her. The recent events had brought all the progress he'd made to an abrupt halt, and it seemed as if his left hand had lost some of its mobility again, as if he had more difficulty finding the proper words for things.

"Yes, she needed the down time, like everybody," Coulson admitted. "Like every one of us." He closed the file in front of him. "Listen, with the addition of Gonzalez' SHIELD, we can go back to a more normal mode of management. May took some time off. Skye as well, and she's set to return tomorrow. Now's your turn to take some leave. Both of you."

Jemma turned to Fitz again as he looked at her.

"I've had leave, Agent Coulson," he began, tugging the sleeve of his cardigan over his hand. "I'm barely working as it is."

"Fitz, running away from Gonzalez's team is hardly down time."

"I quite agree," said Jemma. "But sir, Agent May indicated that _you_ were going to be taking time off. If anybody's due for it, it's you. When was the last time you had a holiday?"

"TAHITI wasn't a real, um…" Fitz paused, then tried another tack. "It doesn't count."

"Agents Fitz and Simmons, have you lost the memo about my being the director?" Coulson rolled his eyes impatiently, his expression a mix between annoyance and pride. "We definitely spend too much time together…"

He stood up, reaching for another file from the stand in the corner of his desk.

"It's mandatory leave, by the way," he said, sitting down again, his expression stern. "And since we don't have exactly the same job within SHIELD, our schedules can overlap. Taking leave at the same time as May would be difficult. You and Agent Weaver or Mack as well. It's called basic management."

Coulson sighed audibly, as if pondering his next move.

"And to answer your question, the last time I was on vacation was Christmas 2011, at Audrey's parents'. Basically in another life. Can we please start with the individual debriefs so that I can send you on leave?"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir," they answered in unison, Jemma flushing hotly, although her ears pricked at the mention of Audrey Nathan. Fitz's did, too, she could tell by the way he sought her gaze again. It had been a long time since Coulson had spoken of her, though Fitz had said something once about a tie. If Coulson _was,_ truly, going on holiday, could he _finally_ be paying a visit to Portland?

"Good, who's starting?"

Once again she and Fitz started to speak at the same time, but Fitz, with no small amount of effort, managed to assert his voice over hers.

"I will. Go first, I mean."

Jemma went out to the hall to wait, but Fitz's debrief about his time on the run with Hunter and Mike Peterson was so quick that she wondered whether she'd experienced another time lapse as she had inside the Kree stone .

"By the way, if you go to Scotland to visit your mother," Coulson said as the door opened a crack, "I might have some requests for you."

"I hadn't really thought…"

"Go Fitz, even for a couple of days. Otherwise you'll regret it later."

"All right," he replied, looking at Jemma as though for approval.

She nodded, although she fidgeted as she began to imagine what Agent Coulson would have to say about how _she_ should spend her leave of absence. _Why_ hadn't she volunteered to speak first?

The two men shook hands and said goodbye, but Fitz turned back in the doorway. "So…" He cleared his throat, then went on, "You think she'll understand now?"

Coulson let out a sigh. "Her being able to understand was never the problem, Fitz." He gave the young man a push. "Now go, have fun."

Then he turned to Jemma. "Ready, Simmons?"

"As I'll ever be," she replied, stepping inside the office. "And I apologize again for being so presumptuous before."

"About what?" he asked in a tone of innocence, closing the door behind them.

As he went to his own chair on the opposite side of the desk, the back of her neck prickled. Was he really going to make her go into this again?

"About who was the most deserving of leave. You are the director."

"Simmons," he began, then hesitated. He took a pen from the holder and began to play with it distractedly. She'd never known him to fidget before. "Your dedication as a physician and an agent is commendable. But you need to pace yourself."

He watched her again. She smiled weakly and looked down at her hands in her lap. "You wouldn't be the first person to tell me that. Although it seems to be a shortcoming a number of us suffer from, doesn't it?"

"I was going to tell you that I haven't been the best example. But even I knew to listen to my boss when he kicked me out the Triskelion for a whole month of leave." He paused, gaze drifting as though he were lost in thought. "And I'd say of all the team, you especially need a breather."

Jemma nodded. He was correct, of course he was. "It probably sounds ridiculous, but I find civilian life a little...daunting...after everything. I'm not the same person I was when I left home and...I don't know how my parents can possibly understand. Or how not to frighten them."

"That's exactly the reason why you need to go back to civilian life, even for a week. And they need to see you." He took a deep breath. "Don't underestimate _civilians_ ' ability to understand and listen. They'll surprise you. God knows Audrey surprised me during the TAHITI project, even if I spent more nights on the couch that I would have liked at the time."

"She seemed like a remarkably strong woman, when I met her. That is, if I'm not being presumptuous again."

"Yes, she is. Resilience and stubbornness run in her family," he smiled faintly. "But she isn't the only one." Jemma felt his insistent stare. "If you can't go and see your parents, you could always pay a visit to Trip's mom for me. I need to consult for my arm, and I won't have time to go and see her as I planned."

At the reference to Agent Triplet's mother, Jemma' eyes welled. "I will," she choked out. She blinked, trying to keep herself from actually crying in front of the director, but her eyes betrayed her, a few tears sliding out and streaking down her cheeks. She swiped them away with her fingertips. "I'm sorry, sir...I don't mean to…" Her throat constricted too tightly to go on.

Coulson got up from his chair and walked around the desk.

Jemma grasped at the last remaining shreds of composure. She blinked again, brushed the tears away, and straightened her shoulders. The loud accompanying sniff rather undermined the sense of dignity.

"Truly, I'm fine…"

"As fine as a British soldier in the trenches."

She huffed at that and glanced away. "The problem with working for and with spies is you can never hide anything from them."

"There's that…" he acknowledged with a small, understanding smile.

"One month of leave, Simmons," he went on. "Then mandatory consult with Dr. Garner as you ease back into work."

With a reassuring squeeze of her shoulder-she suspected his instinct was actually to hug her-he went back to his chair.

"And, about the difficulty of hiding anything in a spy organization? It came to my attention that you kept contact with Audrey after Portland?"

It had been mortifying enough to be emotional in front of Coulson, not to mention to receive a dressing down -deserved though it had been. But even as Jemma clasped her hands together, she tilted her chin slightly upward as she responded:

"I believed, given the circumstances, that a member of SHIELD ought to keep in contact with Audrey, in order to monitor whether she suffered any lingering physical or psychological ill-effects of her second encounter with Marcus Daniels." Aware of how stilted she sounded, she added, "She seemed so utterly alone. With her fear, and her grief...She felt you were watching over her, Agent Coulson, and I thought if you couldn't tell her you really were, she ought to at least have the assurance that SHIELD was. That there was someone she could talk to who understood."

"Simmons?" Coulson raised up his hand in a pacifying gesture. "Don't be so defensive. Pep-Miss Potts told me."

He didn't finish, but grimaced instead. Meeting Miss Potts again might have been most awkward after so much time. Jemma tried not to smile. It was strange, to imagine what Coulson's life might have been _before_. Dealing with the Avengers on a daily basis. Working at the Triskelion. Being on a first-name basis with the CEO of Stark Industries. Dating Audrey… For some reason, she had a hard time thinking about a Phil Coulson whose life didn't entirely revolve around their small team.

"And I thank you for that," he said.

Jemma released her breath, relieved he wasn't angry with her for going behind his back. "You're welcome. Though your thanks isn't really necessary. In fact Audrey and I have become quite good friends, over a number of emails. I can see why you...like her."

He cleared his throat. "Then maybe Portland's another destination for your leave."

"She's invited me, in fact. A standing invitation, to be more precise. Portland is wonderful, she always says, and I should see more of it than the dark corners of empty auditoriums. The trouble is, I can edit myself in emails. I think in person it might be much more difficult to speak of you in the past tense. And Audrey does speak of you. Write of you. Often."

"Don't worry about that, Simmons," he said with a sigh. "I'm pretty sure that Miss Potts, and _Stark_ , didn't show the same restraint. And May digging up my grave kinda ruined the whole _dead_ thing, after all."

There was a lot these days that Jemma found herself struggling to process, but her hesitation now wasn't the product of incomprehension. "Sir...do you mean...Audrey knows?"

"If I believe Miss Potts, Audrey suspects…strongly. And I can't imagine a universe in which Miss Potts hasn't told Stark about our chance encounter in Jo'burg. The helicarrier in Sokovia wasn't very discreet either."

"If it makes you feel any better, the dramatic appearance of a helicarrier seems rather more Nick Fury's style than yours. He's quite fond of _deus ex machina_ , isn't he?" When he smiled slightly in agreement, she added, "I don't mean to pry, but if you are planning a visit to Portland, would you mind very much letting me know? Only it could be quite embarrassing if I were to turn up at the same time."

"You're coming close to prying, Simmons," he said. "But as my physician, it can be helpful for you to know that I'm due for an appointment with Dr. Cho and Tony Stark at the end of the week. Surgery will be scheduled then."

"Understood, sir," she replied. "And although it goes without saying, you're in excellent hands with Dr. Cho and Mr. Stark…Er…" She flushed, realizing she might have worded that more tactfully. Thankfully, Coulson looked faintly amused as he shook his head.

"Simmons? Dismissed. Go get some rest."


	6. Long Distance - 2009-2010

**Long Distance - 2009-2010**

Audrey listened to the phone ring on the other end of the line. She didn't have any real expectation that Phil would answer, was fairly certain his voicemail recording would be the closest she got to actually actually hearing his voice until he completed whatever mission he was probably occupied with at the moment. She never knew for sure, of course, but in nine months of dating him long distance, she'd learned to recognize his patterns: going from prompt responses to calls or texts to suddenly _incommunicado_ meant he was on a job.

Seldom could he tell her much about his assignments. She'd always thought spy movies exaggerated their use of the words _top secret_ and _classified_ , but it turned out they were actually pretty conservative. In lieu of information from him, she'd gotten pretty good at digging up weird news reports that coincided with Phil's absent and silent periods. For all people mocked _The National Enquirer_ , tabloids actually came much nearer to the truth than they realized. And as much as she missed regular chats when he was working, it did make for kind of a fun twist on Twenty Questions whenever he was back in contact afterward.

The phone picked up on the fourth ring. She'd been about to hang up without leaving a message when she realized it was _not_ in fact, Phil's voicemail, but Phil himself.

"Hey there." The voice on the other end of the line was warm but a bit urgent. "Hang on just a sec."

Audrey smiled and settled a bit more comfortably on the bench outside the concert hall, where she'd come during the fifteen-minute break from rehearsal. Once again, the tension between the _maestro_ and the first violinist was high, if not volatile. And the bad blood between Mary the flautist and Gerald, the new guy in the percussion section, had achieved another level as they threw insults at each other about some cheating habits.

And people wondered how she could deal with her own long-distance relationship with a government agent. Who, from what Audrey could make out from the one-sided conversation she could overhear, sounded to be having a hard time right now.

" _No, Ms. Lewis, I'm certain that's the same iPod... Listen, please… And no, we didn't touch your playlists, I swear…_ "

Audrey almost choked on her burning tea as she eavesdropped. All she could hear of the female voice was the enraged tone, and the rapid-fire delivery that made it difficult for Phil to get a word in.

" _And yes, this is your notebook, Dr. Foster. With all our apologies._ "

The second female voice was even angrier and more authoritative. Audrey took another sip, visualizing Phil's embarrassment, how he probably was holding his hands in a pacifying gesture right now, the redness spreading up his neck, reaching his ears as he endured the mouthful of insults.

Then it was over.

"How are you, babe?"

"You know, I actually was calling to complain about the usual suspects," Audrey replied, "but it sounds like compared to you, I'm having a delightful day. iPod drama, though...That sounds...strangely mundane for you?"

"It's just the tip of the iceberg." He was cryptic again, but strangely hyped? Like a kid on a sugar high. "However, it isn't the easiest part to deal with… Man, I need a drink."

"Well it's almost five in New Mexico, isn't it?" Audrey prodded, wishing she could see his face to gauge his reaction to her guess about his location. "Strange weather they've been having there, right?"

"Yeah…" Phil's answer was evasive, but he couldn't suppress the slight surprise in his voice.

Audrey's smile widened. She was getting good at this. "Soon, I'm going to start one of these conspiracy sites, you know," she quipped. "On a scale from one to ten, how strange was it?"

"One hundred," Phil deadpanned. "I really wish I could tell you about this one, Audrey, although you probably wouldn't believe it. _I_ can hardly believe it...So what's the Maestro up to today? Have _you_ been driven to drink?"

"Not yet, but I'm craving for a cigarette like crazy. First time in a almost a decade…"

"Welcome to the club. I'll try to resist the urge if you do...it would be easier if I could hop on a plane and we could find something else to distract us."

Audrey let out a chuckle, ignoring the alarmed fellow cellist calling to her from the front steps.

"I heard cross stitch was very good for that. Meditation. We could go to a yoga class together…" she quipped. "Or were you thinking of compensation by creating endorphins, Agent Coulson?"

"You musicians have naughty minds," he replied, amusement in his voice; she could just picture the flirty twinkle in his eyes. " _I_ only meant a brisk jog around the neighborhood. Did I just hear someone call you? Break over?"

Audrey gestured to her friend, indicating the cell phone pressed to her ear.

"Not yet. I need more than ten minutes before I intervene in yet another fight. I feel like the only sane person around here," she grumbled.

To be honest, she wasn't the only sane person, but she was the only one willing to open her mouth when she was fed up with the craziness.

"And yes, we do have naughty minds, and faithfulness is a foreign concept at times. Can you imagine they can't believe I'm fully satisfied with a long-distance relationship? New guy in percussion asked me out three times before settling on a flautist…"

"That's...persistent," Phil replied, an edge creeping into his voice though Audrey could tell he was trying to keep it light. "Do I need to pay him a little visit?"

"Come on, only superpowered creeps are out of my league," she teased, before growing serious. Behind the edge of jealousy, there was permanent worry. Months later, and the memory of Marcus Daniels was still there, ready to rear his ugly head. "Seriously, Gerald's a standard creep. Shot him down with a few emasculating words-and by revealing that I took private self-defense classes from my super-agent boyfriend."

Over his chuckle, she heard, " _Agent Coulson, Director Fury's on the line._ "

Audrey groaned. If Phil's boss wasn't walking in on them when she was in DC, he was interrupting their phone calls.

"Does he have a sixth sense for me?"

"Looks like it." Phil let out a heavy sigh. "Sorry, gotta go. Hold off on the cigarettes until next weekend. Should be able to cram in a few days of leave."

Audrey couldn't contain her grin. "I think we already established I won't need them if I'm with you. Good luck in Area 51."

"And good luck with your pacifying mission. I didn't know that Dvorak could be so polarizing. It's the concerto for cello right?"

"Yeah, and my solo parts were the easiest to settle, it seems. But we'll survive, as usual." Audrey stood up and retrieved her empty mug. "However, I'll survive better with a weekend away and lots of endorphins before the big first night."

"I'll pack my running shoes," Phil replied. _'Sir, the Director…_ ' "Okay, really have to go now. I love you."

She climbed the stairs, only to hear the shouts and insults that caused so much alarm.

"Don't you remember we decided we didn't need them anymore?" she teased. "I'm not one of these cheating musicians, you know," she added, more to her companions' benefit than anything. "Love you, too."

 _This_ was for his benefit. Audrey hung up and took a deep breath.

"Edu? We're not getting anywhere like this," she interrupted the shouting match. "Let's not lose our heads, shall we?"

And now, on with the show.

-/-

 **2010**

Coulson stared at the bottle of scotch disbelievingly. No wonder his footing was less than steady; he'd managed to empty half of it in the past couple of hours without even noticing.

 _Fuck_.

He only meant to have one glass to unwind, maybe a double scotch, to get him through the horrendous paperwork. The chore became more and more unbearable day after day. No improvement was in sight.

No improvement would come, he knew it in his gut, in spite of the doctors' assurances otherwise.

 _Fuck._ What the hell were they doing, playing Frankenstein?

Coulson collapsed back in his chair, trying to settle the uneasy feeling in his stomach-whether the nausea was due to the scotch or the general disgust he felt right now, he couldn't say. The uneasiness grew when his ring tone broke the silence in his living quarters, phone vibrating on the table.

 _No, not now_.

But he picked up the call anyway. He needed to hear Audrey's voice, even if he didn't want to talk to her.

If he started, he wouldn't be able to stop.

"Hey, honey."

"Hi, you," she replied, the affection in her tone evident even over the phone. It was nice to hear someone sound cheerful, too, even though he could also sense the concern lurking behind it. "How was your day? Better than yesterday? Did you get some sleep?"

The last time they spoke, he'd made the mistake of telling her that he hadn't been sleeping well, and she'd cut their call short so he could finish up his paperwork and get to bed at a respectable time.

"Not as much as I wanted," he admitted. "And it wasn't a very good day."

Sweet euphemism. He wanted to scream. He wanted to be able to complain about the kind of hellish day that made him hate himself. That made him drink half a bottle of scotch in a couple of hours.

"Phil…" Her voice was all concern now, the cheerfulness gone. "This project...is there an end in sight? It just seems like it drags on and on, and it's pulling you down with it. You've dealt with some difficult situations before, but nothing like this."

He swallowed, not sure he could control his voice if he spoke right away. She knew him too well. She could read between the lines far too accurately, even thousands of miles away.

After a lengthy silence, he said, "Why don't tell me about your day instead? You're all set for your trip to Finland?"

She hesitated, and for a moment he thought she was going to call him out on changing the subject. Mercifully, she didn't.

"There was a moment today when I thought I might be fleeing the country as a fugitive murderer instead of as a touring musician..."

He half-listened to her story of the maestro's latest drama, which involved his belated realization that an invitation to the Sibelius Academy actually meant that Audrey would be away from the Portland Symphony for a month, and the ensuing tantrum. "God forbid Edu accept the tiniest act of independence from his peons."

Even if Coulson didn't hear everything she said, the light tone of Audrey's voice made him lean back in his chair, relaxed him as the scotch failed to do. He closed his eyes. Melodramatic symphony conductors seemed such a world away from his own job of watching SHIELD agents unravel after receiving alien blood transfusions. What he wouldn't give for the days when dealing with his own personal diva, Tony Stark, was the most stressful part of his job.

"I'll let you off the hook for changing the subject this time," Audrey said, the shift in her tone drawing his attention; it had been wishful thinking to hope she'd let it go entirely. "But I want you to answer one question." A heartbeat of silence, then, "Have you been drinking?"

You always had to trust a musician's well trained ear to notice the slightest change of voice on the phone.

"Yes." He nodded, as if she were in front of him. "Today was…difficult."

Sebastian Derek had finally cracked when they forced him to reveal the scars on his body, testimony of the hypergraphia displayed by the other patients.

Six patients out of six. One hundred percent. Total failure.

 _I need to know. I need to know. I need to know._

Scotch had seemed like a good idea to erase to complaint from his brain.

"Very difficult." He swallowed back an angry sob.

"This isn't right." He could hear that she was near tears, too. "Whatever this is, it can't be worth what it's doing to you. Does Fury know?"

Resurrecting an Avenger seemed to be worth it, in the beginning. Now he didn't know anymore. Coulson hunched over the table, forehead cradled in one hand.

"I can't tell, babe, y'know I can't tell."

But he wanted to so much. He needed to.

"Tell me more about your day, please. I'd like to hear something… normal."

He'd known she was brave with the way she'd handled the Daniels situation, but the way she composed herself now, when she was so obviously distressed on his behalf was equally so.

"You know, this might just be the first time you've ever called _my_ colleagues normal," she said.

"Your colleagues of Portland are certifiable nutcases, but your Finnish ones seem more civilized, if you ignore the tattoos and the whole… _metal_ thing."

Before he met Audrey, he had no idea that a cello could sound like that. Or that you could play cello while standing. Or even that cello was the new cool thing in hipster circles.

"So I should cancel the appointment I made at the tattoo parlor in Helsinki?"

"Depends… Where? What size? Are you sure you'll be able to handle the pain?"

"I'm tougher than I look," she replied. "And I thought I'd let it be a surprise...make you look for it."

Coulson smiled in spite of himself. She was trying so hard to cheer him up, and she was successful, like always. But, was it fair? He felt like a burden to her.

"I miss you," he blurted out.

"I miss you, too," Audrey replied, a tremor in her voice. "I...All these years we've made this work. Phone calls...weekend visits...But now when I call you don't talk. The last time we were together, it was like you weren't even with me. We can't go on like this."

Coulson had to force himself to pour the scotch into the glass and not drink directly from the bottle. Now, he knew where May came from.

The utter inability to share. The despair that came from it. The desire to protect the other from the horrors that inevitably came with the job. The necessity of sheltering the loved one from the person the job turned you into…

"Maybe May's right…"

Audrey knew enough about May to knew what he meant by that.

"No," she said, vehemently into the phone. He could picture her shaking her head. "If you're going to say what I think you're going to say, then I don't want to hear it."

"Audrey, listen, it's just…" She deserved better than babysitting him and his demons. "Aren't you tired of it?" _Of me?_ he wanted to ask, dreading the answer.

"I'm tired of this project," Audrey said. "I'm tired of what it's doing to you. I'm absolutely sick of Nick Fury asking you to give everything when it's costing you so much. But I love _you_. I love what we have…What we _had_ , up till now."

Coulson heard her swallow back a sob. He hated what this project did to them as well. And he didn't like himself very much at the moment. Was he trying to punish himself by suggesting they should end things? Was he really selfless here, or a selfish bastard?

He tried to sit up a little straighter, the room spinning as he did so. "Listen-"

"I'm done listening, Phil," she interrupted, in the particular voice she used with her colleagues when they were unreasonable. At least, it was very clear that was how she thought he was acting. He slumped again. "I know you can't talk, but can you at least answer with a simple yes or no?"

He hesitated, briefly, rubbing his forehead between his fingers. "Yes."

"Good. You're the boss of whatever you're doing right now. Because, if you weren't, you'd be complaining a lot more."

"Yes," he replied. "But-"

"No buts. Just yes or no. You're working for Fury because you stole his car as a kid, meaning you'd jump off a cliff if he told you to."

Coulson sighed, and stared longingly at the scotch before pushing the glass away from himself. It wasn't _quite_ like that...at least he didn't want it to be...but it wasn't wise to argue this point with Audrey. "Yes."

"You believed in this project, but it didn't go as planned. You were too excited when you started it."

The accuracy with which she read the situation without knowing any of the details was a bit dizzying… or maybe that was the half a bottle of scotch. He'd be a fool to let a woman like her go… But then, he _was_ a fool, to have let this project go so far, get so out of hand…

"Yes," he replied, voice breaking on the word.

"You feel guilty. You never drink, not like that."

The bottle blurred before his eyes. "If you only knew what I've done...what I've allowed to be done… the lives I've destroyed…"

"Actually, I'm not sure I want to know." Her voice was much softer now. "Now, Phil, please, _think_ … Why did Fury give you that project? Why _you_ and not another agent? Why does he trust you so much? Because even I can see that he holds you in high esteem." Audrey had stopped talking, as if to give her words time to sink in.

Coulson had asked himself these same questions so many times over the past weeks. Why him? Surely Fury's trust had been misplaced, just as Audrey's faith was.

"I can't answer this one for you, Phil."

"I…" He rubbed his eyes, slumped over the table. "I'm not sure I can, either. Not right now. I'm in no condition…"

"Sleep it off and think again. You know the answer. What's his favorite insult when you watch a game together? That you're an idealist, right?"

Painful as this conversation had been, he found himself smiling a little. And a memory he hadn't thought of in a long time dragged itself from the mire of nightmares and stress and alcohol to the front of his mind.

"Remember when we were in that hotel in Portland, when my guys were staking out Marcus Daniels? We watched a Saints game."

"How could I forget?" Audrey replied. "It was the first time you held my hand."

He wished her slender fingers were twined through his now. That he could lift her hand to his lips and brush a kiss across her knuckles.

"You said that all hope wasn't lost for the Saints, against all odds. Then they lost, and we spent the night talking about how we didn't care if our teams never brought back any trophy. They were our teams."

"And I'm on your team now. For better or for worse."

Coulson nodded. She was a stubborn one. He still didn't understand why he deserved such faithfulness, after all he'd done lately.

 _You're an idealist, Coulson. It's your biggest flaw and most defining quality. Don't let it be your downfall._

Maybe he should follow his gut after all. Maybe that was what Fury wanted from him from the beginning.

"Maybe I'll be able to join you in Helsinki. Gotta keep these tattooed Finnish hunks at arm's length." He didn't manage quite the light tone he was going for, adding a choked, "Can't afford to lose you."

"I think this conversation has made it pretty clear you never could," Audrey replied. "But I'd love it if you could come with me. It's been too long since we had a getaway, and..." A playful note crept into her voice. "...maybe we could get matching tattoos."

"Can't. Don't like needles." More accurately, his line of work prohibited any permanent body mark that could make him more noticeable. "But I'll hold your hand, promise. Talk to you tomorrow."


	7. Portland - 2015

**Portland - 2015**

" _Hola guapa_."

Even before he spoke, Audrey recognized the maestro's way of opening and closing the auditorium door behind him. Years of habit since they met fresh out of high school, during a summer class in Paris.

" _Estas cosas te van a matar, dame una._ "

Audrey smiled behind her fresh tears. He knew her too well. She took a deep, calming breath, and offered a cigarette to Eduardo.

"Thanks for your sacrifice, _parasito_."

" _Parásito_ ," He corrected her as he sat down by her side on the steps in front of the concert hall. " _Ahora_ …" Edu paused for dramatic effect, as always. "Care to explain what just happened in there? I'm the diva, and you're the rock. If you start losing it just because people are standard pains in the ass, we're fucked."

Audrey sighed, exhaling a wispy puff of smoke. It wasn't that she didn't _care_ to explain why she'd shouted at her colleagues, thrown her score across the stage, and stormed out of rehearsal, so much as she wasn't sure she possibly _could_. How could she tell him that her past had returned to haunt her, when he didn't even know what her past was? Part of her was tempted to say, _So, the Avengers. My boyfriend worked with them and died in the line of fire. In fact I met him because he rescued me from a guy with superpowers. Remember that stalker I had? He came back, and I think Phil might have saved me again…_ God only knew Edu had actually said stranger things to her during his meltdowns.

She took another drag from the cigarette. "I think...I'm starting to feel stifled, I guess."

And by _starting_ she meant for the past three years.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Edu frown pensively.

"Who would have thought that being with the IRS was such a dangerous job? That is, if Coulson was really IRS…"

Audrey actually cracked a smile at that, at the sheer ridiculousness of it. "You'd think a professional would come up with a better cover. He hated numbers…"

"Dunno about that… I didn't like him that much… or even make much of an effort to know him," Edu stopped again. "But I have eyes and ears. And for the past year, you've been on pins and needles whenever this shady fascist organization is mentioned in the news… SHIELD?"

A bitter smile curled the maestro's lips. Of course, coming from a family who fled Pinochet's dictature in Chili, he was vehemently against everything that came close to a secret police. Still, Audrey winced at his description, his obvious mistrust of SHIELD. Not that he was necessarily wrong, but she knew it wasn't all bad. Phil believed in it.

"Obviously none of the spy skills rubbed off on me," she joked, weakly. "I thought I'd begun to put it all behind me, but then this happened and I'm in the middle of it again. I can't escape."

"Do you actually want to?" Edu's voice was soft, tentative. "Until last year, you were making progress, slowly but surely. As expected."

Without asking, he took another cigarette that he lit with the finishing one.

"You had it bad," he whispered. "But you were better. Now, it's as if you had put your life on hold. As if you were expecting… I don't know..."

"As if I were expecting him to knock on my front door?" Audrey suggested, and he nodded. "I don't know if I really believe he will or not, but I have been waiting for...something. I've had offers, you know. A particularly enticing one in Spain… But…" She let her words trail off, her gaze wandering across the street.

"The old man Savall is really stubborn, isn't he?" Edu snorted. For all his qualities, his lack of true appreciation for anything older than the eighteenth century could be a bit stifling. "Medieval music, seriously, that's so _boring_ …"

"Not just Medieval. Baroque, too." She poked his arm playfully. "Folk music," she added with mock horror. "And the opportunity to record with handsome guys during my free time…"

Edu pulled faces of increasing disgust as she went on. "What about your daily rehearsals with a front row view of your handsome maestro?" More seriously, he asked, "So why have you taken none of these offers? Apart from them being terrible prospects. My own impeccable tastes aside, any of them would be smart career moves for you. Better than playing second cello in Portland for the rest of your life."

Audrey bristled at that, her temper flaring up, just a little. "You do realize I'm only second cello because it gave me the freedom I needed to explore other areas?"

She stopped abruptly when she caught his teasing smile. Edu knew how and when to push her buttons.

"I like it here," she whispered. "I like… the memories." Fresh tears formed.

"Of course… But moving away would be a good occasion to empty some drawers, wouldn't it? You have no use for Armani suits, have you?"

Blinking hard, Audrey stood, drawing hard from the cigarette. The last time Edu slept over, he'd snooped through her closet and dresser and found Phil's clothes. He hadn't commented, only gave her one of his judgy looks that was almost worse than anything he might say-which was saying a lot.

She tamped out her cigarette in the ashtray by the concert hall door just in time to swipe away the tears which won out after all. It wasn't just the suits, the dress shirts, ties, pajamas, running clothes, even socks and underwear; there were the razor and aftershave, the toothbrush and toothpaste still stashed under her bathroom sink. She'd tried to clean them all out one day, but only got so far as taking them out of the medicine cabinet before she chickened out of throwing them in the trash. She could still remember standing in her bathroom, pulling the stopper from the aftershave, remembering how it felt to have his arms around her while she breathed in the scent of him. And that night, as she lay on the concert hall stage, half-conscious, she'd smelled him again as his lips ghosted her forehead with a kiss.

"I've become that woman," she said, attempting to laugh, but it only came out as a strangled sob. "We were going to get married, you know. We hadn't worked out all the specifics yet. He never got around to giving me a ring... Maybe if I'd had that…" She looked down at her empty left hand, curling her fingers into a fist. "Maybe if they'd let me see him…"

She turned back to face Edu, who still sat on the step, looking up at her.

"It's all I have of him. How can I let go? Even the house…" Her tears fell freely now. "He loved the original hardwood floors."

"So that's the full story…And you still defend these sons of bitches?"

He stood and offered his hand. It was time to get back to work. It helped, always. To focus. To forget.

"I won't throw the first stone, not me." Edu smiled sadly. "You know how hung up we are about my uncle. More than forty years after the _coup_ and my mother still hopes. Nothing is worse than mourning a missing person. That's basically what Coulson is, isn't he?" He opened the door but paused before they stepped inside. "That's what you realized, right? After whatever went on after the fall of SHIELD?"

Audrey stared at him. "You know, you're a lot more attuned to other people than you let on."

"Just don't tell anyone, eh?" He gave her hand a squeeze before quickly dropping it. "You need a change, Audrey. And if he does intend to come back into your life, it seems to me he's probably in a good position to find you. Wherever you go. Just preferably not playing Bach..."

-/-

Coulson paid the cab driver, picked up his bag from the curb, and turned to find Audrey's neighbors staring at him as if he were a ghost.

Well, technically, he was more of a zombie, but they weren't that far off.

He gave them an awkward wave, returned their scowls with an embarrassed smile. What were their names, anyway? The retired couple had accepted his IRS cover quite easily. In fact they'd made an annual tradition of having him over to review their fiscal declaration, just to make sure everything was correct, much to Audrey's amusement.

Mrs. Henson, he remembered now as he climbed Audrey's porch steps, gestured suspiciously at his missing left arm and spoke to her husband _sotto voce:_ "Dear, do you think maybe he doesn't work for the IRS?"Mr. Henson's reply was lost as Coulson's ascent carried him past the living room window, the blinds drawn but the sash raised so that the sonorous strains of the cello drifted out into the still summer night. He vaguely recognized the tune, not a classical piece, something more current. A pop song? Maybe something he'd heard Skye listening to.

Under the weight of the Hensons' lingering glare, Coulson knocked without hesitation, like an automaton. He couldn't waver in front of them, as much his legs seemed to have a will of their own to turn back and run back to the airport. The cello's voice cut out abruptly in the middle of a line. A moment later, the familiar sound of Audrey unlocking the door made his throat constrict. How many times had he stood here, a big goofy grin on his face as he waited for her to open the door, whenever he could cram in a week off, away from SHIELD?

He swallowed painfully as the door opened, barely able tear his eyes away from his polished shoes.

"Hi."

Three years of absence, and that was all the greeting he could muster.

Audrey said nothing, her face a mixture of wonder and pain. He saw her blink rapidly and swallow with difficulty. Her eyes darted over his shoulder, and he turned his head to followed her stare; the Hensons stood on the sidewalk in front of her house, unabashedly watching their reunion. Maybe it was for their benefit that Audrey remained calm, tried to keep this as normal in appearance as it possibly could be.

"Hi yourself," she replied, swinging her gaze back up to meet his eyes. The initial surprise was gone, only sadness remained. "About time you dropped by."

He bit his lip and studied her instead of answering right away. She looked thinner, paler than last year. The past months hadn't been kind to her, just like Pepper said. He'd been a fool, he saw it now, to think he could swoop in, take care of Daniels, and disappear again without affecting her.

Of course she knew.

He shouldn't have come so close to her. He _should_ have kept his hands to himself. But the sight of her lying on the stage, motionless, submerged him in panic and made it impossible to think clearly. At first, he only intended to check her pulse, to reassure himself that she was still alive, but he'd missed her so much. Hearing her talk about them at the apartment, listening to her play, watching her swallow her fear and face Daniels, then to feel the warmth of her skin...one touch was more than he could stand.

She probably knew the moment he leaned over her, whispers on his lips, yet he'd remained hidden in the shadows. He hadn't helped her heal at all, only added salt to still open wounds.

"Yeah… Sorry about that."

Audrey remained silent, visibly unable to speak without breaking in front of him. He felt the weight of her stare as she took him in, and forced himself not to grimace when her eyes settled on his missing arm.

Yes, he was back. But not in his entirety.

Her eyes widened when she understood what the sling hid. Her effort to mask her reaction was obvious, and new tears appeared. Without a word, she opened the door and stepped aside, indicating that he should come in.

Silently, he entered, waiting in the foyer for her to close the door behind him. Still neither of them spoke as she led him to the kitchen where she took two mugs from the cupboard and put water to boil in the microwave. She didn't ask what kind of tea he wanted and picked up two bags of honeybush-probably a gift from Pepper's latest trip to South Africa.

It was almost too easy. It shouldn't be. He didn't deserve easy.

By force of habit he loosened his tie and discarded it on the back of one of the chairs before joining her at the counter, his good hand automatically finding its way back between her shoulder blades as she poured boiling water into the awaiting mugs.

At his touch, Audrey pressed her fingertips to her lips, as if physically containing the emotion she struggled to hold back, but the sob broke from her throat as her tears fell. She turned, wrapping her arms around him and tucking her face into the curve of his neck.

Coulson inwardly cursed his current state which prevented him from returning the hug properly and settled for a soothing motion of his right hand on her back.

"Hey, it's alright. I'm here…" he whispered as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling what remained of her perfume at the end of the day, leaving the ghost of a kiss on her skin.

It had been so long. It had been _too_ long. Why in hell had he waited so damn long?

Audrey clung to him, pressing herself tighter against him, as if to make up for the lost time. She shivered at the press of his lips, the warmth of his breath, against her neck.

She tilted her face up and pressed a kiss to his chin, then drew his face down to touch her lips to his.

"I missed you," she murmured against his mouth.

 _Three long years_.

"Missed you too," he mumbled between two kisses, letting her spin them around against the counter, the brewing mugs long forgotten. Her hands were everywhere, on his face, his neck, his chest, as if she needed to touch all of him before she could believe he was real. All he could do was thread his fingers in her hair and deepen the kiss.

Her fingers began to undo the buttons of his shirt as instinctively as they moved across the strings of her cello. When they encountered the strap of his sling, they hesitated briefly, then started to unbuckle it. But at the last moment she broke the kiss to search his eyes.

"Do you mind? I...your shirt…It's in the way…"

Coulson had to stifle a nervous laugh at her puzzled expression. He'd always loved the way a crease formed on her forehead when she encountered a problem she didn't entirely grasp, be it a challenging passage in a music score or him showing with crutches, stitches, or a missing limb...

He shrugged and raised his right hand to help her undo the buckle.

"It's no problem…" he reassured her with a smile. "It's just to keep people from freaking out when they see me on the street."

He couldn't help but tense a little when she unstrapped the sling carefully. The memory of the pain was still there, lingering. As though to reassure him, she touched what remained of his arm as she leaned in to kiss him again, and he responded by returning the kiss as deeply as it had been before they left off.

Coulson felt somewhat off balance without the sling, so he wrapped his arm more securely around Audrey's waist. The sensation of her tongue exploring his mouth, of her fingers unbuttoning his shirt, made him light-headed.

 _Alive_.

His jacket was soon discarded on the table. The shirt would have followed had her fingers not encountered the scar as they reacquainted themselves with his chest. Once again, he noticed Audrey's effort not to react, but her callused fingertips brushed over the ridges running down his breastbone.

A fatal wound. He'd needed some time himself to entirely grasp the meaning of it. He had died. There was no other way to put it.

Yet beneath the scars, his heart beat, strong and steady. Well-maybe not _quite_ steady, given the circumstances.

Her fingers traced the raised lines of the scar again and again, and Coulson saw the dawning realization on Audrey's face, the widening of her eyes, her frozen smile, the quivering of her bottom lip. His right hand took her fingers once again and he brought them to his lips.

"Later, " he whispered, bending his head to seek her eyes. "I'll tell you _everything_ later."

Audrey nodded. Then, taking his hand in both of hers, she pulled him toward the hall.

-/-

Afterward, she lay with her head pillowed against his shoulder, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along her bare arm and side, as they always had. Well, not _exactly_ ; she used to curl up against his left side, but now he only had the right arm to wrap around her. They still hadn't discussed how he lost it, but she supposed first things first.

Her gaze settled again on his chest, the cruel scar over his heart. Beneath her ear, his heart beat steadily, returned to its normal rhythm. With her fingertips she followed the long pale line down his sternum. It looked like a surgical line. But harsher lines spidered out from it, as though he'd been wounded, too, and she'd noticed similar ones on his back. Almost as if he'd been...She winced, unable to bring herself to follow the thought through to its completion, but feeling hot tears leak out the corners of her eyes, she knew she must ask. She reminded herself that however gruesome the story was, it hadn't been fatal, though for some reason he'd let her believe it had been. He was alive. Here. Now.

Gently, she rested her palm over the wound, her own calluses from years of holding the bow rubbing against the raised scar tissue. "You were stabbed?"

"Yeah," he replied, wrapping his good arm around her even tighter. "It was a fatal wound."

Audrey pushed up on her elbow so she could look into his eyes. " _Nearly_ fatal, you mean? Or...they had to resuscitate you?"

He looked back at her steadily, as if words weren't necessary.

And they weren't. Three years and she still knew how to read through his half-truths-the only truths his work with SHIELD allowed him to utter.

"Remember when I wasn't myself around 2011? So much that you made me sleep on the couch for my only week-end of leave in two months?"

Audrey nodded. How could she forget the darkest time in their relationship, up to that point?

She never had known what he'd been working on during that difficult time. When Phil came to Portland after that decisive phone call, he'd seemed more like himself than he had in months, if a little haunted, as if he'd awoken from a bad dream. It made her all the more certain that he needed her to help him stay grounded and connected with the world outside SHIELD. He'd told her as much.

For three years, she'd believed death was the only thing that could tear them apart.

Apparently not.

She began to tremble.

"That...That project had something to do with you...not dying? Or...coming back to life…?"

The words that tumbled from her mouth sounded like something out of a science-fiction novel.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Phil spoke again, as if forcing the words out of his mouth.

"We experimented on bringing people back to life, yes. With alien blood." He sighed.

It sounded like a bad episode of _X-Files_. Back in the day, people raved about it, and she remembered how much Phil loathed it. _Too close to home_. In the most horrifying way, it seemed now.

"It was bad, Audrey, it was wrong," he went on. "It was killing me inside. I decided to shut the project down."

"That was just before I left for Finland right, when you…"

 _When he almost broke up with her out of self-loathing._

He raised his head just enough to kiss her lips gently.

"Yeah… My boss re-opened the facility just for me…"

She should be horrified at the idea of scientific experimentation... _mad_ science...human beings being brought back to life, using _alien_ blood...But she pressed her lips to his, soft lips, warm with life, touched his neck and felt the pulse there.

Drawing back, she looked into his eyes, "When I got the call that you'd...been killed…" Her voice trembled, even after all these years. It was stranger still to say it to his face. "I asked Maria Hill if there was anything that could be done. After all, there had just been an alien invasion...and Thor wasn't just a mythological figure, and Tony Stark had a magnet in his chest, and…" Her fingers stroked the scar on Phil's chest again. "Bringing a man back to life didn't seem like so much to ask, after all that."

He swallowed, motionless under her touch.

"Actually, it isn't as easy as that, it seems," he said, his struggle to adopt a light tone evident, painful to witness. Tears began to form in his eyes and she lost him for a moment... "I almost lost my mind, Audrey. So much they had to- Then, even after-"

His emotion almost undid her. She stroked his cheek, kissed him, and lay down again, drawing his head to her as she rolled onto her side.

"And I thought I was going to go out of my mind being the survivor."

Coulson raised his useless left arm, only to let it drop with a frustrated sigh. "I'm so sorry," he repeated once again.

It broke her heart to hear the guilt in his voice, on top of everything else. Of all things, Audrey found herself letting out a small puff of laughter. Maybe her sanity _was_ still in question. Maybe both of theirs was.

"You don't need to apologize for dying," she said, running her hand over his left arm. _That_ was certainly a phrase she never thought she'd hear herself say. "I had a feeling you might not have, you know. Last year, after Daniels came back. You were there, weren't you? With the team who stopped him?"

"Yeah…" he admitted, relaxing under her touch, his lips curving into a tentative smile as her words sank in. "What sold me out?"

"Your touch...your voice...I dreamed of you all the time but that was different. It was too real. Only you could make me feel so safe."

He bit his lip at that, visibly fighting yet another wave of guilt.

Her fingers delicately acquainted themselves with the scarred limb. "You know, for a man wanting to remain a ghost, you've been quite… careless." She swallowed. "You gave me hope, I knew it was you, yet-" _Yet he only came back a year later_. "You hurt me, this past year," she whispered into his shoulder, trying to soften the necessary blow.

"I wanted to come back, once we were finished with whatever we were doing at that time, when SHIELD fell."

He stopped, swallowing back emotion; when news broke of SHIELD's fall, part of her had hoped he wasn't here to see it disgraced, knew it would have sickened him.

"But then, I started to display the same behaviors as the test subjects who'd lost their minds. I carved alien symbols on walls, every night…I just couldn't come back to you, not like that. I really thought I was losing it… I even considered… putting an end to my misery."

He closed his eyes and held her closer.

"Oh Phil…" Audrey clung tighter to him, as much for herself as to comfort him. Tears rolled down her face, and she was sure he must feel them on his own skin. "You should have told me anyway...I could have helped you. Or at least...I could have been there for you." She leaned back, met his eye. "Are you...You don't feel like that anymore, do you?"

He took some time to answer.

He raised what was left of his arm in a comical fashion. "Nah, I'm back to my good ol' careless, knuckleheaded self."

Letting out the breath she'd been holding, Audrey stroked his arm, smiling a little as goosebumps prickled up, making the fine hairs stand. "I've always preferred to think of it as impulsive heroism, myself. That's how this happened, isn't it?"

"Caught something that turned people into stone with my bare hand. I was fortunate enough that one of my crew is _handy_ with an ax," he snorted, cringing at the involuntary but terrible pun. "A few weeks before that, I got knocked around by a man who injected himself with a cheap version of superserum… You'd better replenish the medicine cabinet or kick me out."

"Not a chance," Audrey said, holding him tighter. "In fact you'll be lucky if I ever let you out of my sight again, now that I've got you back." Her throat constricted. "I missed you so much."

 _And they were back on track again_. _Just like that_. _It felt… surreal._

"Me too," he replied softly before rolling them around as much as he could with half an arm, so that he could settle on top of her. "Me too."

He started kiss her neck lightly, focusing on the spot behind her ear.

 _But this kind of surreal, she could deal with._

She closed her eyes, intent on not squirming even though he _knew_ that spot was her ticklish spot. How many nights had she wished he could kiss her there just one more time? She trailed her fingernails lightly over his shoulders, down his back and sides.

"I missed this, too…"

"Can you afford a week of leave?" he whispered in her ear. "I've got a trip to New York planned, to get my new arm, and I need someone to protect me against Stark."

"Edu will have a tantrum, but I'll think of an excuse." Anyway, he'd be relieved she wasn't moping any more. "Are you really telling me that with all the monsters you face at work, you're afraid of Tony Stark? He thinks a lot of you, you know."

"I know that… And I'm grateful for what he's done for you" He cringed a little. "It's just that he has a strange way of expressing friendship."

He returned to her neck, pressing his hips a little more firmly against hers, obviously begging to postpone any more allusion to Tony Stark to a less intimate setting.

Audrey's stomach quivered with a restrained laugh at Phil's obvious disinterest in discussing Tony at the moment. She'd tease him about their strange friendship later-a lot, during their week in New York, she expected-but she didn't particularly want to talk any more about Tony, either.

"There's something else I'd like to express right now…"

* * *

 _ **A/N: At last, the reunion! We hope it was worth the wait, and that if it was, you'll let us know. Only two chapters left!**_


	8. New York, New Orleans, DC - 2011-2012

_**A/N: Here it is, the penultimate chapter...If you've been following this fic, we'd love to know what you think! Especially about a certain cameo. ;)**_

* * *

 **New York - 2011**

SHIELD didn't really do Christmas parties, which was okay by Phil, because he didn't really do Christmas. Or at least he didn't used to. Now he sat at a hotel bar swagged in fresh evergreen boughs, which were aggravating his allergies, trying not to be too uncomfortable in his tux while he waited for Audrey to finish mingling with her orchestra friends and donors whom this soiree was chiefly for, so they could catch a plane to New Orleans for Christmas with her family.

He sipped his drink, the mulled wine warming him pleasantly. The one thing he couldn't complain about Christmas was the beverage choices. Audrey's mother had one hell of an eggnog recipe, heavy on the bourbon. As he drank, his gaze wandered toward the ballroom, scanning the crowd for Audrey. Normally the orchestra members were easy to spot, but the quartet she'd performed with eschewed the traditional black for more festive outfits. She'd been on stage stunning in rich wine red. The glitter of pale gold caught his eye, drawing it to another woman's face as she entered the bar.

He slid off the bar stool and waved. "Pepper?"

She turned, a warm smile forming on her lips when she spotted him. As she navigated through the crowd, he could see her forehead wrinkle, a hint of worry in her eyes. Probably scanning her memory for Stark's latest antics. Pepper hadn't changed.

"Phil? How long has it been? It's such a pleasure." She kissed his cheek. "Did SHIELD upgrade the standard wardrobe for agents looking after Tony?"

"It has been a while. Two years?" He squeezed her elbow as she drew back. "And Stark's here? I saw his name in the donors' list, but this didn't seem like the kind of thing he'd actually show up for. I'm…" He tugged at his wing-tipped collar, which felt too tight. It was too warm in here; the mulled wine had been a mistake. Meeting Pepper's eye again, he said with a smile, "I'm with one of the performers. The cellist in the quartet?"

Pepper raised her eyebrow at that, her expression a mix between relief-well until Stark decided he had behaved enough for the night-and amused curiosity.

"The cellist? In the red dress? Who can't seem to catch a break from her admirers?"

"She's very popular," he said. "The quartet's been touring, and she recorded an album. And I'm the lucky plus one. Can I get you a drink?"

"That would be nice, thanks."

He turned to the bartender, not bothering to ask what she wanted. Pepper was a creature of habit. "A martini with extra olives, and a scotch on the rocks, please."

As they waited for their drinks, Pepper touched his forearm lightly, drawing his attention back to her. "I overheard someone say the cellist's a rising star in the classical world. But I'd say she's the lucky gal who gets to take you home tonight."

The back of his neck prickled. Pepper was such a lovely woman, and he was glad their ill-advised attempt at dating several years back hadn't ruined their friendship. He still thought she could do so much better than Stark, but he tried not to let that show when he turned back to her with her martini with olives-he'd debated double, unsure how stressful this night had proved to be for her, but decided she seemed relaxed enough. He held up his glass, and she clinked hers against it.

"How are things going with Stark? I hear you've been busy with that new building over on Park Avenue."

"Come on, Phil, you didn't _hear_ , and I'd be willing to bet you know more than I do about the specifics of the Stark Tower and the brand new Arc reactor."

He didn't deny it. "It's a good move for Stark Industries, going from weapons to clean energy. And sponsoring classical music? I'd say the new CEO's doing a lot to change the company image."

"Am I that transparent?" she replied, eyes twinkling at him as she sipped her martini. "We figured that diversifying our actions would strengthen our new philanthropic position. Focusing solely on the war would reflect guilt more than anything." She paused, expression going pensive, then went on in a softer tone, "Things are good. Unbelievably good. I've never thanked SHIELD properly for what you did for Tony. And by SHIELD I mean you, and, what's her name… _Natalie_."

"Natasha Romanoff," Coulson said, noting the slight edge that crept into Pepper's tone. She might be grateful, ultimately, for what the agent had done, but it was never easy to learn anyone you'd let in was a spy. "You don't have to thank us. We were just doing our jobs."

 _That_ sounded like something out of a cheesy formulaic cop show. At least he hadn't called her _ma'am_.

"Tony's still hung up about some threat you made to tase him?"

Coulson barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Stark could be such a baby. He was lucky tasing was all he'd threatened to do. He sipped his scotch, decided not to comment on that last part at all-in the spirit of Christmas.

"Look at us," said Pepper, as though sensing his struggle, "talking about work at a Christmas party…"

The gentle hum of the crowd faded as a young man in a tuxedo appeared on the scene, smooth as a member of the Rat Pack, all smile and charm. Pepper groaned and stepped away from Coulson, scanning the room.

"Looking for Stark?" he asked in a sympathetic tone. He didn't know the reason for Pepper's distress, but he'd babysat Stark enough times to guess that a crooner singing Christmas songs and Tony Stark were one man too many in a crowded room.

Pepper nodded. "I think this is your window, Phil," she said, gesturing to where, at long last, Audrey's circle of admirers had turned their attention from her to the performer-except from one big bald guy who continued to talk to her. "And I'd better find Tony soon before he starts singing his own brand of carols…"

He'd hoped to introduce Pepper to Audrey, although that came with the risk of Stark introducing himself to Audrey.

"I'd better not miss it," he replied. "We have a plane to catch. But if you need me to threaten the taser…"

"Plane? As in vacation plans? Now who are you, and what did you do with Phil Coulson?"

They were interrupted by an outraged blonde twenty-something who stormed into the room from the terrace, cheeks red not from the cold outside, and muttered profanities as she made a beeline for the bar. Pepper grinned gleefully. Obviously, Stark was located.

Even in a committed relationship with Pepper, he still had a unique talent for antagonizing people.

"Don't bother with the taser, Phil. I have my own weapons now."

Coulson chuckled. "Maybe SHIELD should put you on the payroll, since Stark's under your watch now." He touched her elbow, drawing her in for a parting hug. "Merry Christmas, Pepper. Let's try to catch up again soon."

"Sure, and sooner than next Christmas, shall we?"

She returned the hug tightly, then released him.

"Now go, you have competition…" She started to the terrace, but called back, "And, Phil? Normal life looks really good on you."

The look was all Audrey, he thought as he made his way back to her. That shade of red really suited her dark hair and pale skin, the silhouette hugging her figure perfectly. No wonder she'd been surrounded by admirers all night. She didn't see him as he approached from behind, touching the small of her back exposed by the low cut of the dress lightly with his fingertips.

"I was starting to think I wouldn't get to talk to you till the party was over," he said as he extended his right hand to the big bald man who still monopolized Audrey's attention. "Phil Coulson," he introduced himself, making sure that the guy understood the message loud and clear.

There was something about him that made Coulson instinctively suspicious. The way he spoke, every syllable and accompanying gesture carefully controlled and measured. The brutish look of the bare scalp and broad shoulders that contrasted with the sharp tuxedo. The goons in black who barely made an effort to look like they weren't hired guns. The slimy guy that stood respectfully two feet behind the big guy… There was something about this guy, Coulson could feel it. Or maybe he was becoming a jealous moron?

"Wilson Fisk. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Coulson," the big guy replied ceremoniously. Definitely, there was something off with him, and if Coulson believed the way Audrey discreetly leaned back into his touch, she felt it too.

"I was telling Ms. Nathan how wonderful her interpretation of Rachmaninov's _Vocalise_ transported me when she played it in Washington. I was one of the lucky few to attend, and-"

"And I was telling Mr. Fisk he's far too kind," Audrey interrupted him with her most charming smile.

"Of course, of course," Fisk said, raising his big hands in a pacifying gesture.

Coulson tensed. These weren't the hands of a businessman by any means. Big, rough, callused in spite of the pricey lotion that Coulson could still feel on his fingertips. These were a killer's hands.

 _Who the hell was this guy?_

"You'll have to excuse me for cutting in," Coulson said. "I've been very patient all night, but now it's time to dance."

"Thank you for indulging me, Ms. Nathan," Fisk replied, without acknowledging Coulson. "I shall look forward to the next opportunity I have to hear you play, and wish you a merry Christmas."

"Thank you," was all Audrey had time to say before Coulson whisked her onto the dance floor to _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas._ She sighed in his arms, leaning close to him.

"Could've come to my rescue sooner, you know," she murmured in his ear as she let him guide her to the rhythm of the slow dance. "Almost revealed that my boyfriend knew hundreds of ways to kill people to get _Mr. Fisk_ off my back."

"Sorry. I was catching up with a friend." He gave her fingers a squeeze. "Plus I'm not sure it really would have helped your cause if I'd come over with my taser, would it?"

"Not very Christmassy, that's for sure." Her lips found the place behind his earlobe. "And quite counter-productive at a philanthropic gathering of people convinced that government agencies are the worst evil on Earth."

Her breath and the softness of her lips on his skin simultaneously made him shiver and still feel too warm.

"You see?" He pressed his palm more firmly against the small of her back, holding her against him the satin of her skirt whispering against his trousers as they danced. "I'm not a total Grinch after all..."

"No, just a spy full of secrets." Coulson felt her as she pressed herself against him, intimate, yet still appropriate. Her fingers caressed his neck to catch his attention. "Speaking of secrecy and privacy, tomorrow we'll be in a house full of _people_ for a few days." She raised her eyebrows in mock horror. "My part here is done, and I wouldn't mind pulling a Cinderella right now."

He smiled at the reference to their first date. "It's not really Cinderella if the prince goes with you, you know," he said, leading her by the hand off the dance floor.

"Technicality. I'm disappearing from the ball."

"Lucky for you, disappearing acts are just one of my specialties."

"Always knew you were a useful guy."

* * *

 **New Orleans - 2011**

Audrey stifled a laugh when she saw Phil stepping back into their room without a noise. After a chaotic day full of typical Christmas Eve drama-provoked, as usual, by her sister-in-law and her peculiar views on education-the house was finally quiet, until the storm of December 25th began in less than ten hours. And only Phil could dare to wander around without even making the hard floor creak and waking the Huns up.

"Everybody's asleep?" she whispered.

"Not everybody…" he replied in kind. "Your parents are having some well needed quiet time on the porch. But the rest of the gang is either sleeping or sulking, or both."

He sat down on the bed and revealed the board game he was holding. "Up for some fun? Or are you too tired to try and have your revenge?"

Her head was throbbing from the day, and her sister-in-law's endless comments about her and Phil's selfishness and obsessions with their respective careers. But this was the kind of challenge she couldn't leave unanswered.

"Last I checked, that was in the boys' room…" She chuckled disbelievingly.

"I'm good at my job."

"You keep holding on to that," Audrey replied, taking the lid off the Ticket to Ride box and spreading out the board on the bed, "because I'm going to kick your ass at building railroads."

"Talking trash before we even start the game? That's not exactly in the spirit of the season, is it?"

"If we play with the red and green trains, is that seasonal enough for you?"

Chuckling, Phil held up the bags containing the game pieces. "Which do you want?"

"Red, of course."

"Because you're out for blood?" He tossed the bag to her, and she caught it.

"I may be competitive, but let's keep things in perspective. Obviously I chose red because I'm going to stop you in your tracks."

"You wish," he replied as he started to organize his trains. "You'll be green with envy when you see my routes."

"You were lucky last time," she replied, letting her own trains pile up on the bed cover. "Gimme the cards."

As soon as she discovered the possible routes, she had to repress a frown. Boston-Seattle? And Miami-Denver ? No way… Discreetly, she tried to study Phil's expression as he contemplated his own cards. As usual, his poker face was… flawless. Damn him. Even when game play began, some minutes elapsed before she had an inkling of his strategy, as they silently amassed cards to build their routes.

"Argh!" he said after she placed a single train between Seattle and Portland. "Now why would you block me? I was coming to visit you."

Audrey shrugged. "You'll just have to find a more creative way to get there, I guess."

She should have been contemplating her own future moves, but instead trained her eyes on his face as his gaze flicked back and forth between the cards fanned out in his hand and the open train routes on the map, plotting his _more creative way_. It was the story of their relationship, really. DC to Portland, by way of Santa Fe or LA...occasionally meeting each other in New York...or making trips to New Orleans to spend holidays with her family. All around her rigorous symphony season and touring schedules, and his unpredictable assignments all over the globe. Her sister-in-law called them selfish, for not giving up or changing careers for each other, but Audrey disagreed. How could they have kept it going for this long if they were selfish?

"You do realize that you're forcing me not to be ecologically responsible," he said at last, interrupting her musings as he took possession of the San Francisco - Salt Lake City route.

"Our entire relationship is the antithesis of _ecologically responsible_ , dear," she replied, and placed her own trains on the Helena-Duluth road, at last.

Phil chuckled at that, before frowning suspiciously at her slightly triumphant smile. _Only one route to go, and you're toasted, dude_.

"Well, we reduced our ecological print big time lately, didn't we?"

There was something in his voice that made her look up, and swallow. Yes, living in DC for the last months had been great.

More than great.

Returning to Portland for the new symphony season was going to be difficult. Not that she wasn't confident they'd be able to maintain their relationship long distance, as they always had, and not that they'd both been in DC full time even when she'd been staying in his apartment with him but...She swallowed again. There had been an unexpected security in having a base of operations, so to speak. A _home_ base.

His hand moved across the board, to build another train route, Audrey thought at first, but instead it curled gently over hers, where she was picking at the bedspread.

"You look pensive all of a sudden. Regretting that last move?"

"No, but you will," she replied.

Brow furrowing, Phil looked down at the board and he started to withdraw his hand, but Audrey caught it and said, "Do you think reducing our ecological imprint is a change we should think about making permanently?"

He didn't reply immediately, securing the Salt Lake City - Helena route instead. When he looked up, she could see his heart wasn't really in the game anymore.

"Well, I could accept a more permanent job as Stark liaison… You could find a more permanent opportunity on the East coast," he mused.

Audrey smiled. Of course, he had thought about it.

"You speak Spanish, right? Isn't SHIELD present in other parts of the world than the US?"

Instead of having one of them making the sacrifice, both could make the jump.

"There are a lot of ways we could make it work." Phil grinned back.

Audrey returned her attention to the board, and blocked his route. "Unlike you in this game, I'm afraid."

"And that was absolutely gratuitous," he groaned. "You can't possibly need to block this route."

"No," she admitted gleefully. "But it's funnier like that."

"Yeah. Hilarious," he deadpanned, doing his best not to grin, though the smile lines at the corners of his twinkling eyes completely gave him away. He rolled onto his back.

"Aren't you going to play?" Audrey asked. "It's your turn."

"You're going to have to persuade me. It's not even playing at this point, it's just prolonging my agony and humiliation." He turned his head to meet her eyes again from across the game board. "And I admit, it's a little hard to concentrate on fake train routes now."

"Don't try and find excuses for your utter defeat, mister," she said, her grin widening even more. "I won, admit it."

Without waiting for the admission that would probably never come if she knew him well enough, she started putting the trains and cards away. They were an inconvenience now.

As soon as the game was packed away, and off the bed, Audrey was in his arms.

"There's a house full of people," he said, a half-hearted excuse against her mouth.

"You didn't let that stop you sneaking around finding board games," she said, pulling him over her. "So go on. Show me how good you are at your job."

"It's more our experience of dorm rooms that we'll need to muster." Without warning, his hand slid between her thighs and she had to bite her lip.

 _That wasn't fair_.

"Shhh, be quiet," he whispered against her lips. "You don't want to be caught by your churchgoing sister-in-law, do you?" And he kissed her again, his fingers sliding under her panties.

 _Smug bastard._ She was in love with a smug bastard.

* * *

 **Washington DC - 2012**

 _The plastic Christmas tree was ridiculous, barely reminiscent of the fresh cut trees they used to decorate back in Wisconsin. In the streets, the seasonal decorations of holly berries and pine garlands were at odds with the fact Phil could run around in a T-shirt most of the day._

 _Across the kitchen table, his mother stared vacantly at her steaming cup of coffee while he brooded over his increasingly soggy cereal._

" _So, what do you think?" As usual, it was as if his mother forced the words out of her mouth. "Do you want to go to Preservation Hall today? I have this friend at work, she gave me tickets…"_

 _He shrugged. "Whatever."_

 _Truly, if it had been another day, he would have jumped at the occasion. Money had been scarce since they settled in Louisiana, until his mother finally found a job as an accountant for a big restaurant in the French Quarter. Things were getting better, and they were finally able to try and enjoy their new city._

 _The flipside was that she was barely home, and that she still clung to Christmas tradition._

 _Suddenly, he was a few inches taller, with a hint of stubble on the chin, and he stood up, his cereal and milk forgotten._

" _Nope, not interested," he snapped back as he caught his denim jacket. "Gotta hang out with the guys. Don't wait up for me."_

 _However, as soon as he opened the door, he found his way effectively blocked by a tall black dude with an eye-patch._

" _Get out of the way, dumbass!"_

 _The guy chuckled in the most unnerving way. He hadn't moved an inch, bastard. "Mrs. Coulson? Do you need me to wash this boy's mouth out with soap?"_

 _Then he was his adult self, stepping aside to let Fury in, a sad smile on his face. "Thanks boss, but you didn't have to…"_

" _Nonsense, Coulson, I'm still your S. O. I have to make sure that you're alright." Fury eyed the apartment silently. "How is she?"_

" _Slightly better, but the docs say that she doesn't have long…" He took a shaky breath. Most probably, he would be on an assignment when…_

 _Damn._

" _Well, let's make sure that this Christmas is a joyous one," a feminine voice said as she walked into the room unannounced, carrying a heavy cello case._

 _Then Audrey started playing, until she threw her bow at him without reason… and he was back in his bed, his mother waking him up for this dreaded Christmas Day. "Don't you want to open your presents?"_

" _Phil_ ," he could hear a murmur, accompanied by a light nudge against his shoulder. "Phil."

Through the haze of sleep, he felt the gentle hand on his shoulder, the soft voice saying his name. He swatted at the hand, rolled over onto his side. "Trying to sleep, Mom."

He heard a stifled laugh at that, followed by another, harder nudge.

"Phil, wake up, you're having that nightmare. And if you call me Mom again, I'm going back to _my_ mother…"

 _Audrey's voice._ He rubbed the crust from his eyes, opening them blearily. His bedroom in his apartment in DC, he saw from the glow of the clock on the nightstand and the early winter morning light that filtered dimly through the drawn curtains.

"Sorry," he croaked, and reached for the glass of water on the nightstand. After he drank, he turned onto his other side, groaning a little at the stiffness in his limbs from being tense in his sleep. "It was that Christmas morning dream again."

"So I gathered." She caressed his forehead soothingly. "If going to my parents' was too much, you should have said so. They would've understood."

This was true. Ever since Audrey had took Phil to their home in New Orleans, her parents had adopted him in a heartbeat, barely hiding their satisfaction at seeing their daughter with a suitable, reliable boyfriend for once. Coulson had accepted their immediate affection good-naturedly, but he still needed to get used to such unrestrained, _normal_ displays of affection. Going to ball games with Audrey's father. Letting her mother fuss over him, especially when he came back with a visible scar or bruised face… His IRS cover hadn't lasted long with them. Dating Audrey, falling for her, had made him flex some social muscles that had stiffened over time.

"Your mom? Your dad?" she pressed, gently.

He nodded, the pillowcase rustling a little. He reached up, laying his hand over hers whether it lingered on his forehead, then drawing their twined fingers down to his chest.

"Mom. Waking me up early and then walking around the apartment like a zombie. But… You were in it, this time."

"Was I?"

Her fingers drew invisible patterns on his chest, playing with the dark hair. Her expression said it all: he hated to see him like this. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to chase the last remnants of the dream away.

"It seems kind of silly now that I'm awake," he said; her touch always had such a soothing effect on him. How had he survived his job so long without an anchor to the regular world? He wouldn't have gotten through the waking nightmare of Project TAHITI without her, he knew that without a doubt. Though there had been times he'd wondered if their relationship would survive the strain of it.

He looked her in the eye. "You hit me with your cello bow. See? Totally silly."

"Me? Hit you? That smells like horrible guilt. Now, what have you done that you haven't confessed yet? " She pinched him playfully, then sobered up. "Andrew would have a field day with this. _Is_ the Nathan Christmas spirit getting to you year after year?"

Coulson nodded. Given the strain of their long-distance relationship, the fact that this was their fourth Christmas together was… dizzying. Against all odds, they were still strong.

"Or maybe it's more straightforward than that," he said, putting his arm around her waist, drawing her closer to him. "Maybe it's just me being anxious about you going back to Portland. Maybe you were knocking some sense into my thick skull."

He held her tighter against his chest. Her new album was in the can, the other members of the quartet she had worked with had already left DC after the last session before Christmas. Her six months of leave from the Portland Philharmonic were over. Without a doubt, this had been a great professional experience for her. And this had been a great _personal_ experience for the both of them.

"We developed some bad habits, didn't we?" There was a hint of regret in her voice.

"Waking up together every morning... jogging around the block...kissing each other goodbye before we go to work...kissing each other hello from work...binge-watching _Battlestar Galactica_...going to bed together every night. Awful habits. The worst."

"That is, when you weren't somewhere else, doing classified stuff in a classified area."

However, that came with the job, Audrey knew and accepted that. And living in the same place helped a lot with this inconvenient aspect of his career.

"And if we forget about your boss' jarring lack of boundaries," she added, annoyance lending weight to her tone.

Coulson chuckled. For years, Fury had developed a jarring habit of letting himself into his apartment, an habit that now was in direct conflict with Audrey living there. More than once, Coulson had walked home only to find Audrey complaining loudly about her unexpected encounters with Fury. Getting out of the shower, walking around the apartment clad in a towel, or coming back from an exhausting session, cello on the shoulder and phone in the other hand, and finding herself face to face with the one-eyed bastard, casually lounging on the couch were parts of DC life she certainly wouldn't miss at all.

"It'll be nice to stay with you in Portland and not have to worry about Fury's habit of letting himself in."

He kissed the hollow of her collarbone, smiling against her skin as he felt the prickle of goosebumps from his breath.

"I would never ask you to give up any aspect of your music for me," he said, "and I know you understand how uncompromising mine can be. But I can't help but wonder...maybe there is another way we can make this work."

Barton did. Once, Coulson had seen family as a liability to the agent, but that was before Audrey. In the past six months, when they'd been together more than they'd been apart, he'd begun to think that maybe the judgments he'd passed about Barton's life had been less objective than he'd liked to think.

"Maybe we can have more."

"You know I can't ditch the symphony," she stated. "And you can't be thinking of retiring…"

"Of course not," he said. It would be a terrible solution. He'd go crazy after just a few weeks of inaction, and drive her mad in the process. "I'm not _that_ old."

He couldn't help but notice this was the second time in few days that they discussed this particular topic. Since their last discussion, he had pondered his own opportunities within SHIELD. There were possibilities, but it would take months, years even, to get to a more stable position. He just couldn't ditch the Avengers project. Not after all these years.

"Of course not. You started early. Legally, I think you _could_ ask for a pension."

 _Thirty years of service…_

"I'm not talking about a change of circumstances right now...but maybe...that doesn't mean we couldn't make a change of commitment."

"You really are an old-fashioned kind of guy, you know," she said, voice becoming a little breathy with emotion. Not afraid of the runaway bride?"

He kissed the hollow of her throat, trailing soft kisses up her neck until he finally reached her lips. He drew back, tracing her hair back from her forehead. In the dim light, he thought he could see the shimmer of tears in her eyes.

"We've been together for four years and nothing's scared you away yet. I think it's safe to hedge my bets you're here to stay."

"Damn right, I'm here to stay. I don't think I can find another guy who tolerates my regular _orchestra-related_ outbursts, listens patiently to my endless complaining, and gives the best shoulder massages."

"It's the least I can do, when you listen patiently to my complaints about Stark…" He moved his hand up her back and rubbed her shoulder. "So...is that a yes?"

Audrey rolled them around and looked at him in the eyes. Her eyes gleamed mischievously like they had during their first cab ride together.

She let her hand wander down, following the trail of hair on his belly.

"Try again."

She had to bite her lip to contain her growing mirth. She looked… adorable.

"It's hard to concentrate when you're touching me like that, you know," he said, his heart beating quicker for an entirely different reason than it had when he first woke up. He could hardly believe they were really discussing this...really _doing_ this. "Maybe if I'm going to propose to your exacting standards, I shouldn't do it right here. I'm old-fashioned, remember? I think there's supposed to be something with a ring, and kneeling?"

"I've already gone down the traditional road, hon." She gave him a quick kiss, her fingers stopping just under his stomach, drawing patterns there. "Try again."

"Okay then." His voice trembled a little, as did his hands as he curled them around her hands. With as much dignity as he could muster, laying half-naked in bed, he cleared his throat and said, "Audrey Nathan, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

Her own fingers tightened around his hands. "Yes."

There was no question that her eyes were shining with happy tears, and Coulson felt the sting of them in his own. He didn't know what to say, or if he'd even be able to speak if he did, so he kissed her. It wasn't a slow kiss, his heart was pounding too quickly for that, and the tempo of hers was just as frantic, but it was a long one. He raked his fingers through her hair, and their legs tangled together.

When the kiss ended, he said, "So I guess we have a wedding to plan. In between symphony concerts and classified missions…"

"If we do that, we won't get married before 2020…" Her fingers resumed their journey downward, skipping the teasing part this time, and wrapped around him. Coulson couldn't help a needy groan. "Elopement sounds better to me."

She kicked the covers away and kissed her way down his neck and chest. Transfixed, he watched her, his breathing erratic in anticipation. She paused for a second, focused on his belly-button, eliciting another groan….

And the unmistakable sound of the front door opening resounded in the silent apartment.

Audrey and Coulson let out an echoing curse. Against all hope, he wished that it was actually a burglar. He could get rid of the stupid guy in ten seconds top. But if, God forbid, it was Fury… Audrey was probably right. The SHIELD director was worse than a nagging mother-in-law. And more demanding. And even worse at sharing.

Audrey looked up at him, her expression not amused.

"Don't care if the world's ending. You're not his only agent. You have exactly three minutes to kick him out, or you'll have to play the _prisoner's husband_ for the rest of our days."

But the world very well _could_ be ending, Coulson wanted to argue, but stopped himself. Today he would be getting orders from two people, each formidable in his or her own way, and he could only obey one of them.

Making up his mind which one it would be didn't take much consideration.

"Yes, dear," he replied, and lost no time getting out of bed and finding his pants.


	9. New York City - 2015

**New York City - 2015**

Audrey lay back on the picnic blanket, sighing as she stretched her arms over head and her legs out until she could touch her toes to the cool blades of grass beyond the edge of the fabric. Coulson observed her as she got comfortable, enjoying her feline-like laziness. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so perfectly happy. Well, actually he could: when he called her from the helicarrier after his conversation with Stark. The urgency of the situation-the world could be ending for real if Loki had his way-and the billionaire's insistence had pushed Coulson to break his own rule and dial Audrey's number in the middle of an op. Before he knew it, they were planning a trip up the West Coast.

Someday, they would finally get around to taking that trip, but for now they were on the opposite side of the country, in the city which was still recovering from the Chitauri invasion. Apt, because they were, too. More quickly than the city, though, that old adage about laughter being the best medicine proving itself as they spent several days playing tourists: they'd done the museum circuit, rode the Staten Island Ferry, visited the Statue of Liberty, caught a Dodgers game and a Broadway show and now, picnicked in Central Park.

Next to him, Audrey sighed again, stared up at the clear blue sky for another moment and he followed her gaze pensively. It was nearly impossible to believe that once a hole had opened from another dimension and brought _aliens_. He hadn't been there to witness the battle-he was in a body bag at that point, gone for good-but he watched the videos afterward.

He played his role in this battle, but sometimes, he couldn't help but wonder if his sacrifice had been worth it after all. In spite of everything, Loki managed to open the portal and New York was almost totaled, by the Chitauri and by _the World Security Council_ … Or was it Hydra? On the other hand, his sacrifice brought the Avengers together at last.

And Fury made sure he didn't remain dead in the end…

From the corner of his eye, he saw Audrey turn her head toward him, a smile spread across her face. She reached over to catch his hand where it lay on the blanket.

Coulson sighed, content to let her play with his fingers, and closed his eyes, enjoying the sun for the first time in ages. Of course, he still had flashes of the engraved memories of a grass hut in Tahiti; they would never totally disappear. If he focused hard enough, he still could smell the ocean, feel the warm breeze on his shoulders, the taste of extravagant cocktails… But this had not been real. None of it. The reality he had discovered, and the reality he could only guess about, were much grimmer. One year of a comatose state, eight operations, electrical therapy during his sleep to maintain his muscles.

Then he'd woken up in his DC apartment, ready to go back to duty, antsy to go back to the field after almost dying of boredom in Tahiti.

He turned his head and studied Audrey's profile, noticed the first wrinkles that appeared next to her eyes as she smiled softly. Three years. Three long years. In the end, it was worth it. He would never thank Fury enough.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, turning onto her side, drawing their joined hands up to brush her lips across his knuckles.

"Stuff… Still just trying to get my head around… everything," he admitted. "Actually, I haven't really had the opportunity to sit down and think ever since, you know, I woke up."

"You've been too busy saving the world…" Audrey squeezed his hand, then released it as she pushed herself upright. "We're going to have to talk about some boundaries. You can't keep going like that...It's not healthy."

Coulson felt her gaze drift from his face down to the strap of the sling over his shoulder. In only a few days they would be headed upstate to the new Avengers facility for the fitting of his new prosthetic.

"Not for you or for us or for the world you're trying to save."

 _Five days. She had waited for less than a week before aiming at his throat and putting her finger exactly where it hurt._

Audrey might not be a super spy or even a government agent, but she had worked in the highly competitive world of classical music since she was six years-old. As he learned during their relationship, you didn't survive in such a world of crazy divas and inflated egos and maniacal competitors without an almost supernatural intuition, and not a small amount of moral strength. Some of her stories about teachers she'd come across over the years made his own SHIELD Academy days look like spring break at times.

"Didn't we have this conversation four years ago?"

"You were actually listening?" The corners of her mouth almost formed a smile, but she maintained her serious expression. "I thought it bore repeating, since you decided to go one-on-one against a god, and now this." She lay her hand over his sling.

 _Touché._

Coulson sobered up at her touch.

"I know that," he said. "It's just…I'm the kind of guy who hits the ground running."

This particular quality was the very basis of his resilience. An assiduous student of Fury's take on life, he always put away old problems and jumped right into the newest. There was no need to focus on what you couldn't do. The Hydra crisis had propelled him to accept the conditions of his resurrection, the necessity of rebuilding SHIELD and fighting against Hydra helped him to get past the alien writing. At the same time, this quality was his worst flaw, and Audrey knew it all too well, since she was the one who got to see him when he ran out of fuel, or out of luck.

"I know I have to distance myself more, stop acting like a field agent… But we're spread so thin…"

Audrey smiled slightly at him as she stroked the fabric of the sling. "I think I know you well enough not to expect you to ever stop acting _completely_ like a field agent. You wouldn't be you if you did. And I love you."

She leaned over him, kissed him gently on the lips.

He returned the kiss eagerly. For a man who resigned himself to live the rest of his days as a ghost, he was strangely comfortable with these public displays of affection.

Had he _really_ resigned himself?

"I love you too," he murmured.

When his hand had started to petrify, had he really resigned himself? If he had, why had he been so relieved to wake up hours later, back at the Playground? Why had he gladly accepted the pain in what remained of his left arm as the sign he was still alive?

Suddenly, unexpectedly, his throat tightened.

"I'm terrified."

Audrey didn't reply immediately. Instead, he felt her stretch alongside him once again, lay her head on his shoulder and press her hand to his heart.

"I am, too," she said. "But a little fear can be healthy. You never would have admitted it before. There's something reassuring in that."

And here she was, spinning an admission of weakness into an encouraging progression. Maybe she was right. Maybe he should stop trying to run ahead just not to let his fears catch up on him.

Easier said than done.

He was as bad as the rest of the Avengers, honestly, and without the superpowers.

"Yeah…" He kissed her forehead, lips lingering there for a moment. "Does that mean I'm justified in freaking out at the notion of being put under so that they can do their electro-neurological mojo on my arm?"

"Yes," she said, tightening her arms around him.

She lifted her head, slid her hand up over his chest to stroke his face. "But this time, when you wake up, you won't be in some mad science lab. I'll be right there at your bedside." Smiling, she added, "Tony probably will be, too, knowing him."

The first bit reassured him, the last made him chuckle.

"Awesome."

-/-

"No, Edu, I'm not coming back until next Wednesday. Hell will freeze over before I change my plans this time."

It was really too bad, Nick Fury thought, watching Audrey Nathan on the phone, that she was so dedicated to this music gig. She'd make one hell of a SHIELD agent, with this ability to stand up for herself, not to put up with any bullshit. On the other hand, those were probably the very same qualities that made it possible for her to put up with dating a SHIELD agent for as long as she had-and for as long as she apparently still intended to.

Fury knew she had little love for him; he'd caught her following him with narrowed eyes as he paced the waiting area outside Dr. Cho's OR at the new Avengers Facility, the same smoldering hostility as he'd seen one January morning in Coulson's DC apartment, when she hadn't exactly welcomed his unannounced visit. He probably shouldn't find it as amusing as he did, but he'd always had a soft spot for spitfires.

"I don't care who she thinks she is," Audrey continued as he turned his back to stride in the opposite direction. "If she wants my place so bad, just give it to her. I've been thinking about recording another album for a long time."

Even more amusing was the way the junior agents not so discreetly observed their boss' girlfriend.

Agents Simmons and Fitz, who obviously already knew her, apparently had no idea that the cellist could muster so much finality and authority. They seemed to see her as another person entirely.

For a moment, his gaze lingered on the pair. These two had grown up nicely over the years and the struggles. Agent May had chosen them for a very precise mission, but his boy Coulson had turned them into damn fine agents.

Sometimes, playing the Frankenstein wasn't so bad.

The third agent looked even more puzzled and didn't hide her worried expression very well. What had Coulson said about the girl when they talked about the wisdom of having an _Inhuman_ within SHIELD ? _Skye wears her heart on her sleeve, boss. She won't deceive us._

Fury wished he could be as confident about the girl's loyalties as Coulson, but one thing was certain: she wasn't very good at hiding her feelings about the man in the OR. The former director shook his head ruefully. As long as Coulson remained at the helm, Agent _Johnson_ 's involvement with SHIELD would not be a problem.

Then again, some dubious eyebrows had been back in the day, when he brought a gangly teenager fresh out of high school to SHIELD Academy without any proper university or army training.

History repeated itself, it seemed.

"Naturally I'm playing hard ass!" Audrey's voice rose in pitch even as she tried to keep her volume down; Fury turned to see she'd gotten up from her chair. "Keeping the orchestra in marching order is _your_ job, Edu, not mine. I'm not paid enough for this… And yes, Phil's alright. Thanks for asking. See you Wednesday."

Fury stood still and watched quietly as Audrey concluded the call with a weary sigh before collapsing onto her chair again. Now that the call was over, he resumed pacing.

 _Just a routine procedure, but they were all nervous wrecks._

"Your people don't seem very keen on sharing you, do they?" Agent Simmons asked, visibly anxious to break the silence that had settled again in the waiting room.

Fury couldn't help a chuckle. "Well…" He drew the word out, turning to stride slowly toward Audrey. "You know what they say about no news."

Sometimes no news was good news, but other times it was just...no news. Judging from Audrey's face, which stayed the same as she returned his gaze, she was thinking similar thoughts. And Fury didn't expect her to be comforted by platitudes.

"We should hear something very soon," Agent Simmons said. "Dr. Cho said that barring complications, the procedure should be over by two o'clock."

Once more, Fury studied the young agents he'd rescued from the bottom of the ocean the year before observing Agent Johnson for a bit longer. His man Coulson was doing a fine job, like Fury had always expected him to, since the moment he had set his eyes on the teenager who stole his car and almost sold it to a retailer before Fury got his hands on him. Instead of dragging the boy kicking and screaming to the nearest police station, like any good, law-abiding citizen would have done, Fury had decided to pay regular visits to New Orleans where Coulson and his mother lived. He'd come to appreciate the young car thief's many talents, from his passion for all things historical to his ability to pick fights with guys twice his size and win those fights with his brains.

Fury settled in a chair next to Audrey, not sure how to proceed. He was no good in those situations. He decided to remain silent and study her instead. She looked better, so much better than the last time he met her, at Coulson's _funeral_. Back then, he'd felt an uncharacteristic pang of guilt, letting her despair while, thousands of miles away, doctors got ready to perform an ungodly procedure, to revive not only Coulson, but the project he'd shut down. Now, after everything that went down in the course of the last year, he didn't harbored a shred of regret.

It had been worth it, all of it. If only Coulson would stop trying to get himself killed all the time and keep his ass in his director's chair, everything would be _alright_.

Wasn't that the point of the Avengers? Fighting the battles normal people like him or Coulson couldn't?

"I'm sorry I'm on edge," Audrey said, looking up at him. "Your people brought him back to life. I should be thanking you for that, not worrying about routine surgery. I know Phil gave you hell about TAHITI, and frankly you deserve it." Her voice shook, and she paused, smoothing her hands over her skirt.

"At the same time," she continued, more steadily, "I'm obviously glad you did what you had to do to bring him back. I just hope in the future you'll keep me informed of decisions concerning his...health. I know playing the cello isn't world-saving stuff, but...he needs me."

Fury heard the junior agents' gasps. Years of training at the Academy then on the field taught _Fitzsimmons_ a deep sense of hierarchy-even if the gleam in the young man's eyes indicated that this one started to outgrow this. Being on the run with the boss might have a thing to do with this. Agent Johnson, on the other hand, wasn't too good with authority and did nothing to hide her satisfaction.

 _Annoying brat._

He let out another chuckle before turning to Audrey.

Strangely enough, her voice had the exact same quality when she talked to him as it did when grilling whoever this _Edu_ was back in Portland. Playing the cello wasn't saving the world, that was true, but learning to play it at a professional level and achieving a successful performing career surely took some guts. He understood why she and Coulson clicked, despite being so different on the surface.

He let a smile form, fixed his good eye on her.

"I'm not the boss anymore, Miss Nathan. _He_ is." He gestured in the vague direction of the OR. "Actually, I'm the one who'd like to ask a favor from you."

Audrey looked a little surprised, but composed herself. "If it requires more time off, I might make _you_ deal with the maestro."

Fury had heard Coulson mumbling enough this _Edu_ to know this was an experience he shouldn't actively seek. How had Coulson described Edu in the past? A man who could make Stark look like a boy-scout version of Captain America? No wonder Miss Nathan tolerated Stark. His brain started to scheme. This could prove _useful_ in the future.

"Thank you very much, but I already have Tony Stark to deal with. That's plenty for me. Just use your influence to persuade Coulson to stop acting like an idiot," he said. "I've been trying for the last thirty-five years or so, and I'm afraid I can't get through the thickness of his skull anymore."

"You don't have to ask me to do that," Audrey replied. "I've already had a talk with Phil about his...heroic tendencies. And I'll repeat it as often as is necessary. Although...he actually seems receptive to the idea."

Fury turned around to look at the junior agents, only to find silent agreement. Agent Johnson, especially, wore a determined expression.

Apparently, the lad would receive more than an earful from many strong women. Agent May wasn't be alone anymore… This was so typical, though, the way Coulson always managed to aggregate so many different temperaments around him.

The glue that held it all together.

Not for the first time since the Ultron debacle, Fury questioned the wisdom of keeping Coulson's resurrection as a secret from the Avengers. His sense of measure, his constant desire to find a middle ground, would serve them well.

Besides, Stark already knew, and he wouldn't keep his mouth shut for long.

He got up, ready to resume his pacing pattern as they waited for Dr. Cho's news, but decided otherwise. Man, he was getting old and soft, or what?

"And, for what it's worth, I apologize for all the secrecy," he finally admitted. "It was necessary, and I'd do it again without hesitation. But even I can see it was cruel to both of you."

Audrey didn't respond, but he saw her swallow a lump of emotion and he didn't miss the wide-eyed looks on the three young agents' faces, either, no doubt that he'd actually uttered an apology. Which he didn't do often, precisely because they led to awkward moments like this.

Lucky for him, the operating room door swung open, and Dr. Cho strode through, pulling off her latex gloves.

Audrey flew toward her, and Fury stood, too, though remained in front of his chair, sliding his hands into who his pockets.

"Is Phil okay?"

"The procedure-"

"Oh, Phil is _more_ than okay," a male voice came from behind Dr. Cho who barely hid her annoyance at being interrupted. "Now your boyfriend is an authentic cyber-zombie, a _Shadowrun_ character."

"What Mr. Stark is saying is that everything went as planned," Dr. Cho clarified, casting an irritated glance at the billionaire. "Director Coulson will need some time to adjust, a lot of rehabilitation, but in a few months, he should be using his left arm as comfortably as if it were an organic one. I'm sure Agents Simmons and Fitz will help with the whole process," she concluded with an approving look at the pair.

"Absolutely," said Fitz, at the same time as Simmons said, "Of course we will."

"Is he awake now?" Audrey asked. "Can I see him?"

Before Dr. Cho could answer, Tony gestured. "Come on. He's on _so_ many drugs. This will be more fun than the time I bought Banner a bag of weed."

Fury chuckled as the group walked hastily to the recovery room, following from a distance.

But not as fun as that time when they were stuck in a damned Mexican lab and they got high on peyote.

And definitely not as fun as listening to Coulson while he tried to escape from some secret, and collapsing, labyrinth, screaming profanities in the com system.

If Fury remembered correctly, he even said even then, that this time he would resign for sure.

That was in 1984.

-/-

Tony pulled the Audi more or less in front of Dovetail and tossed the keys to the valet, ignoring his admonishments about this being a no parking zone.

"Hey, you're about to have the best five minutes of your week parking this," he said, pressing a large bill into the guy's hand as he rounded the hood of the car, "so how about we leave the righteous indignation to Captain America?"

He was late, even though he was the one who'd suggested this double dinner date with Pepper, Audrey Nathan, and the undead Agent Coulson, but he didn't quicken his pace up the walk to the restaurant, despite breaking all the speed limits on the drive here. Instead, he took the opportunity to observe them where they waited out front, oblivious to his arrival. Which was just rude, but whatever. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth at the sight of Audrey looking _happy_ for the first time since he'd met her. Once upon a time, he'd have had a quip about what kind of woman would be that enthusiastic about the agent, but not today. He was also weirdly okay with how Pepper interacted with _Phil_ , leaning in to hear something he said over the street noise and other restaurant patrons. And they said people never changed.

"But why is Tony late?" he heard Audrey ask as he approached. "You're the one running his company."

"Probably absorbed in yet another session of _tinkering_ and forgot all about us," _Phil_ said. "Twenty bucks says he brings a new prototype of my prosthesis."

"Tinkering?" Tony echoed, coming up behind Phil and tapping his forearm beneath his suit jacket. It was a much better suit than he used to wear, in the good old days when they were nemeses. "Kinda patronizing when my sessions result in stuff like this, don't you think?"

With a wink, he turned to Audrey and let her hug him. "I thought he was supposed to be drugged to the gills. You look lovely, by the way."

Audrey blushed a little and thanked him. "He _says_ he's not in that much pain."

Her dubious expression indicated that she didn't quite believe her boyfriend's assessment of his condition. To be honest, Tony didn't either, but chose not to comment on the drawn lines of his face.

" _Phil_." Tony said instead, putting a hand on the other man's shoulder. "A little advice. Anytime you have written permission to do drugs, _do them._ "

"I will, but I've built up too much of a tolerance over the years. Don't want to overdo it." Coulson shrugged as he let Tony guide him into the restaurant. "And I want to enjoy my meal, not merely have a vague recollection of it."

"The sign of a true foodie, being willing to tolerate a little pain for the pleasure of a meal," said Audrey as she and Pepper followed.

"Can't argue with that. But seriously," Tony went on as they made their way to the hostess stand, "the arm, is it all...you know, up to SHIELD Director standards? You getting the hang of it? Find the taser?"

"This is one of the perks of being the new boss, Stark, I can ask Fitz to do some tinkering and customize my _cyber zombie_ new arm. Then I'll be able to tase you and catch up on _Game of Thrones_ ," Tony stopped for a second to observe the agent turned director. The typical Coulson deadpan delivery lacked a bit of its usual vim and vigor-due to the pain meds, probably-but it felt like old times.

" _Game of Thrones_? Your tastes have evolved over the past few years. Or is it inconvenient for the new Director of SHIELD to watch _Supernanny_? Not hip enough?"

Coulson might not be totally at the top of his game, but this didn't mean that Tony would pull his punches.

The guy had years of silence to pay for.

As the bickering went on, Pepper chose to take matters into her own hands, turned to the hostess and asked for the table _she_ had reserved.

"By the way," Tony went on, "I meant to ask. Is this some kind of rite of passage for the new Director of SHIELD? Losing a limb, an eye, some other body part...? A secret code? Proof of value? Is that why Hill resigned before she got to the top?"

Disappointingly, Coulson decided to ignore the teasing.

 _Spoilsport._

Instead, he took Audrey's hand and they followed the hostess to their table. Brushing a kiss to her cheek, he murmured something Tony couldn't hear, which made her laugh softly as she leaned into his lips.

"If we can get a bottle of champagne," Tony said to the hostess, "we really need to toast those two. Although…" He pointed at Phil. "If you have something with just bubbles for him, that would be fantastic. No mixing drugs and alcohol and all that. Thanks, dear."

"Well, _Director_ ," Pepper quipped as the hostess left and they settled around the table, "that only means you'll have to visit us again in New York so that you can enjoy the treasures of the sommelier's cave. Tonight, you'll have to sit quiet through the toasts."

"Unless, of course, you'd like to _make_ a toast," Tony said. "It's only the drinking part you have to avoid. But if you wanted to say, oh, _To love, and to science and technology_ , I'm sure no one sitting at this table would mind."

He smirked as Phil and Audrey exchanged a look-good old Coulson, barely restraining an eyeroll. Their hands, he noticed, were still under the table, and he guessed there was a bit of silent communication via hand squeezing going on. Pepper was currently engaging in a bit of that, only more with her foot to his ankle. And she had on very pointy shoes.

Clearing his throat, he opened his menu. "I second the motion to come back to New York."

"Well, if you refrain from antagonizing the government in the next few weeks, and if the new set of Avengers is slightly less destructive than the first bunch, I think I could make an appointment," Coulson said as he struggled to open his menu.

A little awkwardness with the new arm was expected, and contrary to popular opinion, Tony wasn't insensitive to the point of mocking Philas he adjusted to it. However, the unmistakable squinting, accompanied by a subtle move to lean back in his chair was too good to be missed.

"The text on this menu is _tiny_ ," Tony remarked. "And by the way, in case you didn't get the memo while you were still pretending not to be alive, Johannesburg was _not_ our fault."

Definitely not Bruce's, as Tony had been vehemently saying to every news outlet who gave him a chance to, and even some who didn't, hoping that wherever he was in the world, Bruce heard it.

"Whose was it?" Tony went on. "Oh yeah, one of the _new_ Avengers'."

Again, Coulson ignored the bait, but the fugitive gleam in his eyes revealed not only that Tony hit the mark but also that there would be hell to pay in a not so distant future. Tony made a mental note to consider eye chirurgy before glasses.

"Fair enough, Stark," Coulson said as he flicked through the pages of the menu. "And we have our share of the responsibility. After all, you all were supposed to assist us in time of need, not replace us because of a sudden collapse."

"Yeah, well I appreciate that," Tony said. "And while we're being all warm and fuzzy, that wasn't really your fault. Totally. The tasting menu looks amazing. What are you getting, hon?" He asked Pepper. "Something vegetarian? Oh look, here comes the champagne. And your bubbly thing that's not champagne, Phil."

With only a slight tinge of annoyance in his smile, Phil took his glass and raised it slightly. Tony did nearly laugh at the look of obviously not knowing what the hell to say, and the realization that there was no way to escape from this.

"To new starts," he said simply. "And second chances."

Under the table, Pepper caught Tony's free hand, and he guessed that on Audrey and Phil's side, there was more of the same.

"New starts and second chances." Tony echoed as they clinked glasses. "And really cool hands."

 _The End_

* * *

 _ **Authors' Notes: And that's a wrap!**_

 _ **Malintzin-It's been a pleasure**_ _ **to play with my favorite partner in crime, and with these characters/pairing. MCU is such a great playground with tons of material, and I can't wait for AoS S3 to have more canon to feed my own headcanons with, and inspire more fic.**_

 _ **MrsTater-Thanks very much to my writing partner who bullied me into watching AoS and writing for the MCU. ;) I haven't had this much fun in a fandom in a long time, and of course finding other Philharmonic fans has been a joy. Your comments have all been very much appreciated!**_

 _ **And stick around, because there are still a few weeks till the AoS premiere, and weeks we have a companion fic to post, in which the other Avengers find out Coulson's alive. Because honestly, did you believe Tony could keep that a secret?**_


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